Solar Flare
by HaideesChild
Summary: Book 1 of my trilogy: What if Edward had tracked Victoria a little more successfully? A reimagining of New Moon, from Edward's point of view. (Underlined snippets are Stephenie's words from the Twilight saga.)
1. Chapter 1

**Prologue**

 _15 March 2006_

When I recognise the city I've arrived in, I freeze. Seattle. Two thoughts immediately rise up: I am closer to her than I've let myself get since I vowed to leave her be—dangerously close—and so is Victoria. The first thought I suppress as best I can; the second fills me with dread.

How long ago did Victoria arrive in Seattle? Is she still here? _Why_ did she come here? It scares me that I had almost hopped on a plane and flown to South America, while the redhead's actual destination lay within 140 miles of Bella. And that raises the most terrifying question of all: did Victoria _deliberately_ conceal her tracks?

I am tracking her for her part in James's almost-success, but what if she has it in her head to finish his last hunt? The thought seems ridiculous—surely Alice would have seen her intentions if she had vengeance on her mind. But if Alice had seen Victoria in Seattle, she would've called me. I think about calling her now, but I know she is already monitoring Victoria, and I fear the news she might have for me if I ask her to look for Bella.

What if all my pain, all Bella's suffering, has been for nothing? In trying to protect her from my world, I've left her defenceless. Have I relied too heavily on Alice's visions and my mind-reading (and my tracking ability, which is apparently next to non-existent)? In my weakness, I stripped Bella of all protection, and now I've let my pain affect my judgement, and my concentration—and Bella could be dead because of it.

I make myself think the word, but I can't picture it yet. Even so, it is too easy to remember the injuries James inflicted. The sound of Bella's pained screams fills my head.

I am running before I even make the decision.

. . . . .

. . . . .

 **Chapter 1: Traitor**

It's risky, but I tell myself that I can enter Forks and still keep my promise. I will sweep the outskirts first, and if I don't find signs of any vampire passing through, I'll stay there and guard the town—without going further in.

Fifty miles out, I'm still trying to convince myself that I can keep to this plan. The point becomes moot when I cross Laurent's scent. His recent presence sends me into a panic. If I were human, I'd be hyperventilating. He has no reason to return Forks. As far as I know, he went to Alaska to visit the Denali clan, and then took a fancy to Irina (and she to him).

I race along the patchy trail, my fears growing as the path turns inexorably towards our meadow. My precious memory of the fateful day Bella and I spent there in the sun only increases my nerves: I almost killed her there myself. The way fate had gone after her defied all reason—and now it seems that, although I have relinquished her, that dark fate is still hot on her trail.

Laurent was here over a week ago. If he came back to Forks for Bella, I am too late. The fact that I must rely on _Laurent's_ restraint brings me no comfort. I can only hope that the wolf stench covering every inch of this place means that they have done their duty and destroyed him. Is it too much to hope that they intercepted him before he got anywhere near Bella?

But then it is as though my worst fears are coming to life right in front of me. Though Bella has no reason to be here since I left—least of all the trek—I catch her glorious scent the moment I enter the meadow, while I am still following Laurent's path.

She was here when Laurent was.

I run to the spot where her scent is strongest—on the other side of the clearing, barely past the edge of thick ferns—and then freeze. I take a deep breath, trying to figure out what she'd been doing. I think Laurent stopped here, too. Maybe they'd talked. Had he honoured Irina's lifestyle, or had the exquisite temptation of Bella's blood trumped any good intentions he may have had? There is no scent of blood, but that doesn't mean anything; even discounting the rain, Laurent is old enough to feed cleanly. The thought momentarily paralyses me. I find myself caught in the memory of drinking Bella's blood to draw out James's venom and imagining Laurent doing the same thing—except Laurent wouldn't stop.

I know I am more sensitive to Bella's scent than anyone else's, so it's _possible_ her scent is older than I estimate. As I start running again, I cling to the faint hope that the wolves and Laurent weren't there when Bella was. Or, miracle of miracles, that the wolves had chased him away from her.

Even as I run faster and faster, propelling myself through the achingly familiar forest, my only thought of finding Bella, I try to plan ahead—without actually thinking about seeing her again, or _not_. Reason hasn't fully deserted me, though, so I map out the quickest, shortest pathway to the Swan residence that won't risk me being seen.

When I arrive, Bella's truck isn't parked outside. I try to tell myself there's nothing odd in that. She could be at school for all the attention I've been paying to what day it is. I let myself in through her window, feeling foolishly happy that she hasn't locked it.

The happiness vanishes the moment I get inside. Her bedroom is different. Her scent is strong, but her presence feels less potent. I try to tell myself that I'm imagining it, but my fears haven't left me. I can still smell wolf, too, though I can't be sure that I didn't carry it in with me; I have been running through it for what feels like hours.

And then I smell the faintest scent of blood coming from the closet. Inside a black garbage bag, I find the stereo that Emmett had given her for her birthday. Pieces of crusted blood fall away in my fingers, and I picture Bella clawing it from the dashboard until her fingers bled.

Guilt swamps me. In my darkest moments, I have dreamed of visiting her bedroom, waiting for her there, begging her to forgive me, to let me back in her life—but I never imagined this. It is as though I am holding her pain in my hands, and it is pain I knowingly caused her. I had betrayed her from the moment I sought her attention, selfishly thinking I could be with her without drawing her into my dark world.

I realise I have sunk to my knees. I take a shuddery breath and try to pull myself together. Bloodied hands are one thing, but my fears for her life are more pressing.

I return the rejected stereo to the wardrobe and take the stairs down to the kitchen, hoping to find more signs of her there, but it seems even more neglected than her bedroom. The refrigerator is mostly empty, and it doesn't look as though anyone has cooked here for at least a week.

There is only one thing I can do, one viable lead I have left to follow—because there's no way I can face Charlie. Knowing I am violating the treaty doesn't stop me. If the wolves have been visiting her house, perhaps they know about Victoria—and if they know that, then Bella must have survived to tell them. I run to La Push, praying that Bella is there with them almost as much as I wish that she is hundreds of miles away.

Maybe she went home to Phoenix. Maybe she only visited the meadow to say goodbye. I could ring Phil—surely I can persuade him to give out a bit of information about his step-daughter without revealing my identity.

But it's too late. My self-control is shattered. I am so distracted by my fears that I know I can't _do_ anything until I know if she is safe. The only thing I can manage now is to run, which requires no thought at all, and to avoid being seen, which is almost as easy—until I arrive in La Push.

I can't afford to run into a wolf before I find her, and yet, if she is with them, how else can I find her? There is no clear trail now—the wolf scent is almost overpowering, saturating everything—so I slow to a jog as I try to figure out where to go. I can't exactly ask for directions. On the Reservation, I am even more conspicuous than usual, and I have no doubt that everyone here knows the stories about me and my family.

Then I remember La Push beach. It is overcast, but not drizzling yet—a nice day by Washington standards; maybe she is there. I try to picture her strolling along the sand or sitting on a driftwood log, serenely watching the waves. As I begin to run again, I will it to be true.

But she isn't there. In fact, no one is. I can smell the lingering scent of a dozen different people—wolves and human strangers—but right now, the beach is empty. From what I can see, it looks as though I am here by myself. And then the dread returns. What if my solitude now is symbolic? If Bella is dead, then I am truly alone in this world.

After that thought, I can't stay here. Though part of me hopes I might stumble across her scent further along the beach, I can't bring myself to wholly forsake the trees and stand alone on the bare sand; in any case, irrational fears aside, it would be risky to leave the cover of the forest.

There is only one other location I know of in La Push. I am halfway to Billy Black's house when I catch the unmistakeable, heavenly scent of Bella's truck. I redirect my course in an instant, following the truck's most recent journey from the cover of the surrounding forest.

Surely Bella is the only one who would drive that thing. _Surely_.

The red Chevy is parked outside a little house tucked away from the surrounding neighbourhood, though that is probably true for most houses here, on the outskirts of the small township.

I am still a good 40 yards from the truck when Bella's heady scent fills my nostrils. I breathe it in greedily. She is still alive. I almost laugh out loud at the immense relief.

I should turn around and leave, but I can't. I need to see her. And the wolves will catch my scent soon enough—I may as well make breaking the treaty worthwhile.

The door of the house is open. I hesitate there, afraid that Bella will be hurt if any wolf is too close to her when he catches sight of me. But a quick scan of the nearby minds allays that fear and provides a glorious view of her. And then I hear her voice. I take a step, and then I am striding through the house, listening to the wondrous sound of her heart.

She is with another girl; they are sitting on a little porch at the back of the house, watching two young wolves—in human form—roughhousing on the lawn. There is a third, older wolf, also in human form, teasing them from the sidelines.

So Bella _has_ been spending her time with these unstable children! Even in the face of my overwhelming relief at seeing her alive, I am horrified at the danger she has been putting herself in—no, that I have forced her into. The scarred face of her companion proves it.

The oldest wolf notices me first. His eyes widen and his limbs begin to shake, but I don't care. Bella is all I see: she sees his distraction and turns. Her whole body reacts when she sees me, as though the shock is shaking _her_ apart, too.

"Bella," I murmur—and then the three wolves are sprinting at me and I have to turn and flee.

They are her friends, so I can't incapacitate them, which means that as much as I wish I could stay and explain myself to her—to prostrate myself at her feet and beg her forgiveness—I have to run.

At first, their thoughts are almost wordless. I am a vampire. I am a threat to their people. And the fact that I penetrated their defences so completely horrifies them. The older wolf is choked up at the thought of Emily—the girl with Bella—being murdered by a vampire. That she might have had to suffer the worst of what being with him means without gaining the one benefit—protection from vampires—is too much for him to bear. I see his memories of the night he lost control of his temper and almost killed her himself. His pain is all too familiar.

Eventually, though, he begins to regain control of his thoughts, and that is when I realise the wolves can hear each other's thoughts. He helps refocus their minds, too—he is their alpha, their pack leader—and they begin to strategize.

I retrace the path I took to get here, but they want to cut me off at the beach—another wolf is racing there to intercept me—so I veer away, deciding I will lead them to the meadow if I can. Their reaction to my course change is more reasoned, and the alpha—Sam—sends the two wolves with him back to the house, in case I am not alone.

"I'm alone," I say. "I would never hurt them—I'm Edward Cullen."

 _The mind-reader_ , Sam thinks at once, using Jacob Black's memories to compare the glimpse he had of my face with Jacob's hated rival. I am a little surprised that he knows about my gift, but it doesn't bother me that Bella has told them.

"Yes. I'm sorry for trespassing on your land," I say. "I didn't violate the treaty lightly—I had to know she was safe."

 _You_ left _her—why do you care?_

I catch a flicker of memory—Bella curled into a ball on the forest floor—but I can't let it distract me. I won't get another chance to explain myself. "I love her. I left _for_ her, because my world isn't safe—she was in constant danger, and I couldn't keep risking her life just because I wanted to be with her."

My words intrigue him, but he isn't remotely moved. The wolves don't believe that I can love—to them, I am a soulless monster.

Before I can attempt to convince them otherwise, Jacob Black joins his pack-brothers in wolf form. His reaction to their thoughts, to my presence, is immediate.

He is _furious_ that I have dared to return after abandoning her—he thinks it will undo all his hard work over the past months. I watch his memories with growing horror, but even as distracting as Bella's suffering is, I cannot mistake his delight in the fact that I have broken the treaty. He can't wait to kill me. Because he is in love with Bella.

Part of me is appalled, and part of me is morbidly amused—trust Bella to go from one type of monster to another—but the jealous part of me far outweighs either of those. Because despite his comparatively limited self-control and a clear tendency towards maliciousness, I can't deny that he is better for her than I am in every respect.

As much as I want to kill him—my rival—I know I can't. So that means I will have to do what I can to convince Sam now, before Jacob reaches us and begins the attack.

"I didn't _want_ to leave her—it destroyed me—but I had to," I say. "The only other option was to change her, and I couldn't do that. I couldn't kill her."

They all agree on that. We are nearing the meadow now, so I decide to explain why I came here today. "I was tracking Victoria—even though I never thought she'd come back for Bella—" the contradiction in their thoughts makes my throat close up for a moment—"but I wasn't very good at it. When I tracked her to Seattle, it was too close. I had to check on Forks. And then I ran into the scent of a vampire who was an associate of hers."

 _Laurent_ , Sam thinks, remembering Jacob's memory of Bella's reaction to the news that the wolves had killed him. I cringe at her fear. I am ashamed that I left her to face this danger alone. And then Sam remembers seeing Bella and Laurent in the meadow; Bella's manner had made them wonder if he was an associate of _ours_ , but Jacob hadn't wanted to wait for him to break the treaty.

"Thank you," I find myself blurting out, horrified that Bella might have become a vampire that day, even with the wolves' intervention. There is no way I can harm Jacob Black now. "Thank you for protecting her," I say, talking to all the wolves, but to him in particular.

 _We didn't do it for_ you, Jacob retorts, while Sam mulls over the seemingly genuine pain in my voice. He begins to consider offering me the chance to surrender.

Jacob doesn't like where this is headed. He focuses his thoughts on Bella, reminding them of the pain I caused her when I left—and tormenting me with these visions of Bella that look nothing like my memories of her. Even after all these months, she still hasn't recovered. She still hates music and romance of any kind. She still freezes up at even the vaguest mention of me, hugging her arms to her chest as though she is falling apart inside.

Though I have never stumbled before, I trip over something in my path—as likely to be my own foot as a tree root, for all the attention I am paying. My momentum throws me end over end a few times before I slam into a tree, which snaps, unable to withstand the force.

I tumble twice more and then land in a heap at the base of a neighbouring tree. I try to regain my feet, but I still can't focus on them. Jacob's thoughts are the only things that seem real. I give in to the guilt and pull myself into a ball, beyond caring that the wolves have almost caught up. I deserve to suffer for what I've done to her.

But Sam tells the wolf at his side to stop, so instead of ripping me into pieces, the two of them pace around me, growling softly. Jared and Embry are already back at the house with Emily and Bella.

I start—how had I missed their thoughts? I focus on them and see that Jacob is right again: Bella isn't just anxious, she is overwrought, her wide eyes full of fear and fixed on the two wolves. Her hands are clenched into fists—so hard that I'm surprised her nails aren't cutting into her skin.

 _Edward_ , Sam thinks, and I reluctantly refocus on him. _Will you surrender to us_?

I nod. "Will you allow me to apologise to Bella?"

 _You're_ never _going near her again!_ , Jacob cries. He is half a minute away. He can't wait to sink his teeth through my neck. He imagines wrenching my head from my shoulders. I close my eyes and lean my head back on the tree, giving him an easier target.

But as much as I agree with him that I deserve it, I can't surrender completely. I open my eyes; Sam is confused by my apparent willingness to let Jacob kill me. "I am hers," I say. "If she doesn't want me, you can do what you like with me, but—"

Jacob's loud protest interrupts me. He is seconds away now. _We can't let_ her _decide—of course she'll want him!_

"Then you can't kill me," I tell him.

He snarls, and I can hear it in his thoughts and through my ears. He knows killing me will hurt her. He knows she'll never forgive him—though she had almost seemed prepared to forgive him when she'd thought he was a murderer of innocent humans—but it doesn't change his mind.

"I won't leave her again," I vow. "As long as she wants me."

 _You left to save her from becoming a leech like you—that's still true_.

"I _will_ find a way—"

He launches himself across the fallen tree with a roar, and sinks his teeth into my arm. His maw is so wide, it encloses several inches on either side of my elbow. I grit my teeth against the pain, but when he wrenches my arm off, I can't help but cry out. He spits it out, but before he can snap at my head—before I have to duck—Sam stops him with a simple command. Jacob resents the order, but a tiny part of him—the part that doesn't want to hurt Bella despite the fact that I am his rival _and_ mortal enemy—is glad to be stopped.

Then the black alpha wolf turns to me. Deliberately, he remembers the night I left Bella. Despite my careful planning, she _had_ got lost in the woods. Sam had been the one to find her, lying on the wet ground, saturated, her eyes dull and distant, seeing nothing, not even reacting to the people shouting her name nearby. I watch her stare at him uncomprehendingly as he tries to engage her, though the mention of Charlie gets more of a reaction. She lets him pick her up without the slightest twitch, as though she couldn't care less about being manhandled by a stranger. Her body is stiff and frozen; she must be hypothermic because she isn't even shivering—or maybe it's shock. After a few minutes, as Sam's body heat starts to warm her, she begins to mumble something. Her voice is so quiet, even his acute hearing struggles to pick it up at first. _He's gone_.

It is only as I drop my head into my hands, an unthinking manifestation of the absolute agony I am feeling, that I remember I only have one hand right now. The physical pain of the loss is still there, but it is nothing compared to the agony at what I put her through.

They all see that I had forgotten my injury—even Jacob—and in Sam's mind, this is proof that I do love her. If I am incapacitated by _her_ pain to the point of forgetting my own, if I won't even defend myself in the face of certain death, then I must love her more than my own life.

"I do," I agree, answering his part-wordless thoughts. "I couldn't have left otherwise."

He thinks he understands now—that I could love her so much that I would _choose_ to leave her, knowing she would be hurt, to save her from even worse hurt.

 _Will you return with us and submit to a hearing of the Council elders?_ , he asks me.

I nod, though the other wolves don't like the offer—it means taking a vampire back into their territory.

 _Bella is the only human to have survived being bitten by a vampire_ , Sam says, giving them a reason why I deserve a chance to explain myself and sue for pardon. _Because he saved her_.

I realise I haven't thought about it like that before—only that I couldn't let her die. Jacob isn't the only one remembering his memory of Bella's explanation.

 _"_ _Edward saved me twice,"_ she whispered. _"He sucked the venom out—you know, like with a rattlesnake."_

Then she shuddered, though it was nothing to Jacob's shuddering. I shuddered, too, imagining Jacob bursting into a wolf inside the car's small cab.

 _"_ _Careful, Jake_ _,"_ she said gently, concerned but nowhere near as afraid as she should've been. _"_ _Easy. Calm down."_

The others stop thinking about it themselves at this point, but Jacob doesn't.

 _"_ _Tell me something else,"_ he remembers asking her. _"Give me something else to think about."_

 _"_ _What do you want to know?"_

 _"_ _I don't know."_ He had his eyes closed, concentrating. _"The extra stuff I guess. Did any of the other Cullens have… extra talents? Like the mind-reading?"_

Bella hesitated, her eyes tightening for a moment, perhaps debating whether or not to give him the information he'd been wanting from her ever since she'd discovered what he was. But then she answered, the words spilling out in a rush, as though she'd suddenly realised how much in need of a distraction he was. _"Jasper could… sort of control the emotions of the people around him. Not in a bad way, just to calm someone down, that kind of thing. It would probably help Paul a lot,"_ she added, obviously trying to joke. _"And then Alice could see things that were going to happen. The future, you know, but not absolutely. The things she saw would change when someone changed the path they were on…"_

And then she began to gasp for air, as though she wasn't getting enough oxygen, and her arms curled around her chest as though she thought she was going to break apart. Though Jacob thought it was simply an extreme version of her usual reaction to thinking about me, I knew all too well what had upset her in this case: of the two futures Alice had seen for her, it would have seemed as though the one she wanted had been taken from her forever.

I see that future now as if it's inevitable—Bella will get what she wants, even if what she wants is to condemn herself to this frozen life. I wince at that. I have failed her more times than I can count. No, I cannot give up yet.

 _She gave up your secrets_ , Jacob taunts, recalling my attention.

"I don't care," I reply, giving him the short answer.

 _Let's go_ , Sam says, thinking about tying my arms—or _arm_ —around my body and then jogging back to the Reservation.

For Bella's sake, I hope they will let her see me before the council makes its decision—and I hope that seeing me will ease her anxiety. "I can reattach my arm," I say. "If you don't bind me, I can put it back while we're moving."

The wolves aren't happy about me being unrestrained, especially when we're back in La Push, and the idea that I can simply stick my arm back on disgusts them, so I agree to being bound. Slowly, so as not to agitate them further, I retrieve my arm. The wolves watch in morbid fascination as I spit on both stumps and then push them together. After a few seconds, the pain is replaced by an intense prickling sensation, and I let go. The distorted pieces of my granite flesh expand as though reinflating, until the only sign that I lost my arm a few minutes ago is a white line marking the fresh join.

Jacob's teeth partly severed my forearm as well, so I spit into the jagged section and press the two parts together to speed up the healing process. The painful prickling sensation is stronger this time, perhaps because I am now feeling both sides of the wound. When the sensation eases and my flesh looks normal—though this scar includes three obvious teeth marks—I wiggle my fingers, relieved that they feel like a part of me again. The wolves growl softly, uneasy.

To hide the torn sleeve, I tear both sleeves off at the shoulder; I am confident Bella's human eyes aren't strong enough to see either scar, so I don't expect to have to explain them to her.

In the moment before Sam phases in order to bind me—for want of another alternative, he is planning to use my shirtsleeves—Jacob comes up with an idea.

 _Blindfold him, too_ , he says.

This surprises the others—they don't know how my mind-reading works, so they aren't sure if I will be able to run blindfolded, but Jacob's real motivation is what really shocks them. Even if I can see just as well through _their_ eyes (which he doubts), he wants to deny me the chance to see Bella with my _own_ eyes, hoping it hurts. It most definitely does. I want to argue, even to lie and say that I _can't_ run blindfolded, but the idea is comforting for the others—though it is just another token binding, it is a clear sign of my cooperation—so I take a steadying breath and shut my eyes.

As Sam phases into his human form, I absently monitor his thoughts. Sometime in the future, I might spend some time considering their interesting condition, but right now I can only focus on Bella. I hold out the sleeves, and Sam takes them out of my hands, careful to avoid touching me. I shift my arms behind my back and then turn slowly, exposing my back to him.

The sympathetic bent to his thoughts catches me off guard. He wraps the longer sleeve around my head, securing it tightly, before winding the other sleeve around my wrists. He doesn't avoid touching me now, and I am momentarily distracted by the intense heat of his skin. He ties a simple knot, then winds the fabric around a second time, before pulling it tight so he can knot it more firmly this time.

It doesn't occur to him that it is tight enough to cause me pain, and I don't bother to mention it. Even if I did care, it is just wasting time.

Sam phases back and shares the plan he has formed. After assigning my guard to their positions around me (he places Jacob in front, knowing the boy will not be able to stop himself from snapping at me if I am in range of his teeth), he tells Jared to phase back so he can call the council to a meeting and explain the situation to Emily and Bella. And then we start walking.

After a minute, Sam sets a faster pace, until we are making reasonably good speed through the forest. It is easier to let Jacob's thoughts flow through my mind without being crippled by them as I focus on Jared nodding to the girls and then trotting out of the room to phase. I'm glad of Embry's continued presence, which means I don't lose my connection to Bella—seeing her through their thoughts is like oxygen to a drowning man. I register Sam's matching relief; he cares deeply about his pack, but even more about Emily. The way he loves her reminds me of the way I love Bella. His love for her had changed him irrevocably, through a curious mechanism the wolves term "imprinting"—after his supernatural side had been awakened, something inside him recognised her as his soulmate, and acted accordingly.

The intensity of the love he feels for her matches the intensity of my love for Bella—relatively speaking—but where I had had a choice, of sorts, he had been a slave to his genes. The wolves' thoughts make it clear that this even more mysterious aspect of being a wolf causes tension among them. Even Sam still struggles with the enforced betrayal of his previous love, but Paul and Jacob _hate_ the idea of their right to choose their partner being taken away from them. For Jacob, it is especially hateful, because he _has_ chosen his partner—Bella—but his genes stubbornly refuse to agree.

His thoughts are torture—especially as he flips from one memory of Bella to the next, showing me her pain from every angle, and then, purposely, showing me the gradual change he has managed to effect in her: the occasional genuine smile, the flash of life in her eyes. I hate him for loving Bella, but at the same time, I owe him for keeping her safe when I didn't. And for easing her heartache.

The other wolves quickly grow weary of his vindictive thoughts. They shift from trying to ignore him to actively telling him to shut up. He is somewhat subdued, but isn't properly distracted until the others begin to speculate about Victoria. I gasp at their memories of chasing her away from Forks night after night. She has been trying to get to Bella for over a week—if the wolves hadn't stopped her, Bella would have been killed days ago.

"Thank you," I repeat, knowing it is meaningless to them, but feeling the need to say it anyway.

On the approach to the Quileute border, our pace becomes frustratingly laboured as the wolves struggle with their need to feel in control at all times—until Jared is finished calling the council members. Then we all focus on Embry's thoughts, even Jacob, as Jared sits down to tell Bella and Emily what's happening.

 _"_ _They're on their way back now,"_ he tells them. _"Cullen surrendered—Sam asked me to call a council meeting."_

 _"_ _Was there a fight?"_ Bella asks, her voice a little more shrill than usual, reflecting her anxiousness. _"Was anyone hurt?"_

 _"_ _No,"_ he replies slowly; she is too perceptive not to pick up on his hesitation.

 _"_ _What happened?"_ she demands.

 _"_ _Jake—"_ he says, then pauses, and I hope he has thought better of his honesty.

But, of course, Bella doesn't need any more information. _"Jake attacked Edward?"_ she cries, horrified. I am almost satisfied by the pang of guilt Jacob feels at having upset her, but it passes too quickly, and then he is back to blaming me for warping her sense of right and wrong.

 _"_ _He didn't do any damage,"_ Jared replies, part defensive, part revolted; I can't hear his thoughts at the moment, so I don't know whether he thinks he's telling the truth. _"Cullen's fine."_

She eyes him closely for a moment, then takes a deep breath. _"Did he… say…_ why _he… came here?"_

The way she stumbles over the question makes me feel like ripping my arm off again and thrusting it through my chest. I have caused her more pain by leaving than I ever imagined possible. It is clear to me now: I made the grievous mistake of giving her feelings no more weight than ordinary human emotions, even though I know there is nothing ordinary about her. She has suffered just as much as I have.

 _"_ _Some,"_ Jared tells her; he has obviously learned from his previous slip. _"Maybe it's best if we wait for them to get back."_

Bella looks ready to argue, but Emily squeezes her shoulder. _"They'll be here soon, Bella,"_ she says. _"It'll all work out."_

Perhaps the scarring on the girl's face adds weight to her words—she is clearly no stranger to suffering—for Bella closes her mouth and takes a slow breath.

Jared nods, and then lopes out of the room so he can change back into his wolf form. I had expected him to wait until we arrive, but when he changes back, I hear that he doesn't want the pressure of being spokesman.

The first councilmembers arrive a minute later—Billy Black and Harry Clearwater, accompanied by his wife Sue—and I wonder where they were when Jared called. I am curious to know how they manage the duality of their lives. Like me, they straddle two worlds—the mundane human world and the thrilling supernatural world—but then I realise that their situation better matches Bella's than mine. They are humans immersed in the supernatural. Do they wish that the latent magic inside them had been triggered, or are they relieved not to have to cope with the consequences of shape-shifting?

It is a mark of Billy Black's nobility and strength that it takes me a moment to realise he has an additional consideration; from the little I know if him and his inner strength, I have no doubt he would choose to struggle with controlling the wolf over being caged by a wheelchair.

Billy accepts a partial hug and kiss on the cheek from Emily, then nods to Bella. His friend does the same, but with a sterner expression. It seems that he blames Bella for my trespass, and I feel as guilty for drawing her into my offence as I feel angry at his unkindness towards her. Especially when she tries to smile at him and I can see the tightness in her face—of course she is aware of his disapproval, and of course she feels guilty.

Sue makes up for a little of his surliness by giving Bella a kind smile, and I wonder what she thinks of her. I can hear from the wolves' thoughts that, with one notable exception, they think of Bella as "the vampire girl". It makes my abandonment even harder, knowing that she has had to endure such a label whilst thinking that the only vampire who has not forsaken her is hell-bent on killing her.

The third councilman arrives five long minutes later; it is a relief that we are not far away now, because he is gruff and open about his frustration with Bella, as if _she_ is responsible for all the vampire activity they have been caught up in. I can only hope he will lay the blame where it belongs—at _my_ feet—when I arrive. He tells the wolves to prepare a cage for me—because I am on trial for breaching the treaty, and no vampire has ever been granted free agency within their lands—so they hunt around for something, the whole pack thinking with them.

They choose a large wooden crate with no lid, and I am almost amused by its resemblance to the 'pen' defendants are made to stand in at court. Jared phases again and between the wolf and him, they carry it inside. Emily and Sue complain about the dirt they bring in with it, and Bella helps the women lay a couple of sheets on the lounge floor before they set it down. She is blushing deeply, and I wonder if it's Jared's nakedness (even though he's on the other side of the crate) or thoughts of me making the blood rush to her cheeks.

I hope she is looking forward to seeing me—I am too weak to hope otherwise. And then I realise that the wolves all expect her to be happy about my return. It is why Jacob is so desperate to show me all the pain I have caused, because he thinks Bella will forgive me too quickly—that she will forgive me before I even open my mouth.

That seems too good to be true, and I know I don't deserve such easy absolution. But however she decides to treat me, with immediate acceptance or more gradual clemency, I am determined to do all in my power to make amends for the pain I have caused her.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2: Penitent**

Jared and Embry start to get twitchy as we run the last half mile, eager to greet their pack-brothers. I feel their excitement and it sparks the same feeling inside me, despite my anxieties. Jacob enters the house first; he strides purposefully along the corridor towards the lounge, and I follow. Sam ducks into a room along the way to phase back into human form, but we are moving slowly enough that he catches up before I enter the room.

Everyone stares at the blindfold and my bound wrists, though Bella is all I see. She is staring at me with such shock that I can't see anything else in her face. My whole body feels charged with power at being so close to her. Her scent is dulled by the powerful stench of the wolves around me, but I breathe as deeply as I can, as often as I can (without drawing attention to it), so as to capture as much of her precious scent as possible.

Jacob is annoyed that Bella doesn't even glance in his direction, even though he hadn't expected her to (and he is relieved to avoid her anger for a little longer). Though I am still grateful to him for protecting her, it appals me that Bella has had to rely on such a thoughtless child—he knew even as he attacked me that she would be angry with him for doing it, and worse, devastated by my pain, yet he did it anyway.

The wolves herd me towards the crate; though I have accepted their makeshift restraints, they still wonder if I will resist this humiliation. The side of the crate is just high enough that I can't step inside easily, so I hesitate a moment, aware that they could turn on me if I move in a way they don't expect.

And then Sam steps up beside me and, to everyone's utter amazement—including mine (though his thoughts give me sufficient warning)—he grips my left shoulder in one hand and my thigh in the other and basically hoists me into the box. I am used to Emmett and Jasper manhandling me now and then, but this is the first time I have ever let anyone else move me around. It feels particularly odd that it is a wolf who thinks of me as his natural enemy—though his feelings are now considerably more ambiguous in my case (which is the only reason he can touch me without losing his temper).

His pack gives a collective shudder, and the others are just as uneasy, though Emily is surprisingly sure of my forbearance. Then I hear in her thoughts that she believes I came here for Bella because I love her. Perhaps her experience has given her unique insight into the powerful forces that can turn a genuinely good man into a dangerous monster and a dangerous monster into a good man.

When I am inside the crate, Sam gestures for the four wolves to position themselves on each side. The council sits a little over five yards away, with Bella, Emily, and Sue seven yards away on a long couch on the other side of the room. Sam sets himself in the middle of the room, between me and Emily; though he doesn't expect trouble, he won't take any risks with her life. I know how he feels, and it gives me pause to experience the intensity of his guilt at disfiguring her—suddenly the scars James made on Bella's fragile body don't seem so earth-shattering.

Billy clears his throat and anticipation fills the thoughts in the room. "Vampire Cullen," he says solemnly. "You have violated the terms of the peace treaty you and your clan first agreed to with Ephram Black and then renewed with this council. At Sam Uley's request, we have consented to hear your explanation before we determine our response to your trespass."

I nod to show I am willing to account for my actions. I know Bella will be upset by my explanation, but I have to answer—I owe the council a full explanation. I do regret violating the treaty, and I hope that they will at least come to believe that.

"I tracked the redhead to Seattle—" Bella gasps, and I pause a moment to let her come to terms with this news—"but it was too close to Forks, so I went there to sweep the outskirts. On the way, I caught the scent of an associate of hers, so I checked Bella's house, and when she wasn't there, I came here to look for her."

Bella listens with a kind of stunned disbelief—she believed my lie so completely that she can't understand my concern now. It is hard to watch her through Jacob's thoughts, with their constant tinge of only partially undeserved hatred against me, but with me in the room, he is by far the most dedicated observer.

" _Why?_ " Billy challenges. "You could've gone to the police station, but instead you chose to break the treaty."

I can't help but flinch at that. "I couldn't face him," I admit; they all understand who _he_ is. "And I couldn't… think straight—I feared that Bella was dead." I can only say the word because she isn't. Her heart thuds loudly, as though to prove it's still as strong as ever.

The wolves hear her heart, too. It makes Jacob even angrier. In his opinion, I am hurting her all over again—he thinks I should have stayed away, because he is more than capable of taking care of her, of giving her the life, and the love, that she deserves. _He_ will never hurt her, though that conviction is weakened by two thoughts—the constant threat of imprinting and Bella's penchant for injuring herself.

I catch the edge of a thought—of Jacob whipping off his t-shirt to use it as a temporary sponge to catch Bella's blood, and then I see the rest. Nothing else even registers as my rage overwhelms everything.

" _Motorcycles!_ " I roar, ripping the blindfold off my head. "You didn't even _think_ about a _helmet_?" When I see the extent of her injury—that he'd had to take her to the hospital to get _seven_ stitches—I have to grip the wood in front of me lest all capacity for rational thought leave me and I throw him through the opposite wall.

 _Bella will be upset_. I focus on that thought until I can think beyond such simple reasoning. Jacob and the other wolves are her friends; if I attack Jacob, the others will attack me, and that would upset her—and put her in danger.

And then, as I try to calm myself by focusing on the jumble of shocked and agitated thoughts around me, I realise I can see Bella with my own eyes now. I look at her and the moment our eyes meet, her brown eyes light up with warmth, giving her the loving expression I have pictured every second since I'd left her—and then they abruptly flash with fire.

"Why do you care?" she challenges.

It is easier to look at her when she's angry—the anger masks her disbelief—but answering her question will bring back the disbelief.

"I never _stopped_ caring," I reply. "I lied when I said I did."

Her wide eyes widen further as she struggles with this truth. I can't completely mask the pain that her distrust causes me; her quick eyes zero in on my grimace, and she stares hard at me for a moment. The old curiosity flares inside me, a thousand times stronger than the burn of my thirst, as though it has never left me. _What is she thinking?_

"So it _was_ about my soul?" she snaps, adding this second lie to my deceit.

"Of course," I agree, accepting this fresh disapproval. "Nothing is worth risking your soul."

"That's _my_ choice."

Everyone in the room gasps. To have her so boldly state that she _wants_ to become a vampire is appalling to them. Jacob's thoughts are loudest—condemning me, rightly, for making her wish for death—but Sam's compassion is strangely calming. He understands me now, and he truly believes that I love her: only the deepest love would have stopped me from turning such a willing victim.

Billy, of course, finds his voice first. "You would choose the cursed life of a vampire?" he asks her sharply.

She glances at him, then deliberately refocuses on me. "Not all vampires are cursed," she insists, before turning back to Billy. "I choose _Edward's_ life—I won't become a murderer."

"You say that _now_ ," Harry Clearwater speaks up, "but you don't know what you will choose when you crave only blood and death."

She shakes her head. "I _do_ know. Edward will keep me from killing anyone until I can control myself."

I shudder internally—she trusts me utterly in this regard, yet she doubts the immutability of my love for her? Maybe, despite everything, she doubts my ability to love, the same way the wolves do… That thought pains me even more than Jacob's memories, even though the boy is now showing me Charlie breaking down in tears, in despair over his catatonic daughter.

After a moment, I realise everyone is staring at me again. I scan Billy's thoughts to see what I've missed—he asked if I have ever killed anyone.

"Only murderers and rapists," I reply, wondering if they will believe me.

"You drank their blood?"

"That _was_ the point," I answer dryly. Then I realise I'm being rude—and I'll never get a better chance to explain myself. "Several decades ago, I decided to sample the full experience—without becoming a murderer myself—so I used my mind-reading ability to hunt human monsters, until I decided that I believed in Carlisle's way of life. I haven't killed since."

"You never killed an innocent human?"

From their thoughts, it is clear a simple _no_ will not suffice. "The closest I've ever come to killing an innocent human was the day I met Bella."

Sam is surprised by that. "The day you _met_ ," he blurts out, "not when you drank her blood?"

The council and the two women were obviously unaware of the true danger Bella had encountered last spring, for they are beyond stunned by this news. It is amusing that none of the wolves even twitch, while everyone else is on the cusp of outrage.

"Bella was bitten by the redhead's mate," Sam explains, realising his tribe needs some context to understand his question, "and Edward drew the poison out of her system and saved her life."

I am not the only one surprised by Sam's use of my given name, but Bella's frown distracts me. Her frustration is backwards, and it would amuse me if she weren't so determined now. But if I am honest, there is a part of me that shares her frustration: if I had let the venom spread, she would be a vampire right now. And not because of me—not _directly_. I had effected her exposure to the sadistic vampire, but with her disastrous luck, who's to say he wouldn't have found her on his own? And if I had decided not to risk tasting her blood, no one would have known I _was_ strong enough to stop.

I realise I haven't answered Sam's question. "When I drank her blood, killing her was the _last_ thing I wanted."

Bella sighs, and the tinge of exasperation suggests her thoughts haven't deviated an inch. It's time to distract her—but then she distracts me first.

"Are you going to leave again?" she murmurs, and I realise that although, to me, it seems that everything I've said and done (or _not_ done) proves that I am here for her, yet again she seems oblivious.

"I can't," I reply, wondering how I can make her believe it. "I'm not strong enough to stay away from you."

She glares at me, and I wonder if she's remembering the last time I said something along those lines—does she actually remember our conversation in the hospital, when her system had been awash with potent painkillers? "You managed it for six months."

"I didn't manage anything," I disagree. "Tracking Victoria was—" She winces again, so I stop. "I am as much yours now as I ever was and always will be," I say instead. "I love you." I feel guilty that I have let so many words spill out of my mouth before I said those ones—because the words I left her with 181 days ago were as hurtful as I could manage to utter.

The tense line of her shoulders doesn't change, but her eyes soften. "More than you love _hating_ yourself?" she asks; I am surprised that she is making a joke—I can only hope it means she is starting to believe in my love again—but I don't find it amusing. And then I wonder if she _isn't_ joking.

"You believed the lie so easily," I murmur. "Did you _ever_ believe the truth?"

She sighs. "You loving me never made sense."

I frown, struggling to understand her meaning.

"I'm just ordinary," she explains, her wide eyes completely earnest.

I groan internally. The lie I'd told, hoping it would ease her pain, has only made it worse, cementing her bafflingly low opinion of herself—even though I'd tried to tell her that it was pretending to be human that I was really tired of, not her. " _You_ are the only one here who thinks so."

She glances around, as though expecting everyone to disagree; when they all just stare at her, she seems bemused. But then I can almost see her shrug it off. "So you admit you were wrong?" she asks, returning to our previous topic.

"Only about leaving you," I reply, careful not to give her anything to use against me later.

"And you _want_ to stay?"

I can't help but roll my eyes. "I never wanted to _go_."

She seems to be hearing me, but her manner is still guarded. "You'll stay as long as _I_ want?"

"Unless you send me away, I will never leave your side," I vow.

She studies my face, and her expression shifts from pensive to resolute—before I can wonder what that means, she suddenly bounds towards me. She doesn't look remotely unstable now as she covers the short distance between us. Sam grabs Jacob to stop him interfering, and Paul shifts aside just enough to open a gap for her. I step up to the edge of the crate and lean forward, not the least bit concerned that she might trip (today, _I_ am clumsy and _she_ is strong).

Right now, I don't care about the wolves' unexpected generosity or the councilmembers who do not approve. She throws her arms around my neck and I wrap my arms around her. I can hardly believe that I am holding her again. It feels the same as the last time, as though no time at all has passed, except that now I know I'm treading on dangerous ground: Bella is more determined than ever to become a vampire.

Aware of our audience, I keep my mouth away from her neck and try not to breathe in her scent too deeply, no matter what I want to do. And then what Bella wants overrides all of that. She pulls my lips down to hers and though everyone around us reacts with disgust or horror, or both, I feel only the greatest joy I have ever felt.

We kiss until we are both panting. She pulls back, then gives me a tentative smile.

"You okay?" she murmurs.

I can't help but laugh at that. " _No_ ," I reply, giving her half a smile to show I'm teasing. "I am whole again."

She touches her hand to my chest, over my heart. "Me, too."

"I love you," I say.

"I love you," she replies, finally smiling at me—though I know I don't deserve such rapid forgiveness.

"I _will_ make up for my mistakes," I promise her. "As long as you want me, I'm yours."

"I've told you before," she says. "I want you _forever_."

I should be sad, but I smile. I can't let it go completely, though, so I try a different approach. "If _I_ were human and _you_ the vampire, would you change me?"

She frowns, but her look quickly turns speculative. I try to prepare myself, although I have to admit, I have no idea what she has come up with. "If _you_ were the human," she says slowly, "wouldn't you give anything to stay with me forever?"

I feel my eyes widen. She has me there—there isn't anything I _wouldn't_ do for her. _I_ frown this time. How has she backed me into a corner using my own argument? "We are _not_ discussing this."

She scowls, as though trying to outdo me in my anger. I have missed this—her kitten-tiger anger. " _Fine_ ," she snaps; from the stubbornness in her voice, she isn't remotely fazed by my resoluteness.

This is too much for Jacob; he knows how stubborn she is. He concentrates hard, and then shifts from wolf to man in seven seconds. "Your bloodsucker broke the treaty today—if you think we're going to let him break it _again_ —"

"What are you talking about?" Bella asks, turning her head sideways without taking her eyes off me.

"The treaty forbids them to _bite_ humans, not just kill."

She turns on him then. "It's _my_ choice!" When she realises he is naked, she narrows her eyes and looks away, back up at me.

He growls, angry that she can dismiss him so easily.

Before he can form his bitterness into words, she turns to the council, the ones whose opinions matter. I am still on trial, and now she is arguing for her own exemption from the treaty. "I will live by the terms of the treaty," she says. "But it doesn't apply to me yet. I have the right to decide for myself how to live my life."

"What about Charlie?" Billy asks, homing in on the one aspect she can't argue away.

She twitches. "I'll figure something out," she insists. "I won't leave him thinking I'm dead."

"No, you'll want to _kill_ him," Jacob hisses.

"No, I _won't_ ," she snaps. "I'll never _want_ to hurt him—and I never _will_. Edward will save me from hurting anyone."

"You'll still be _dead_ ," he retorts, his tone not merely hard, but repulsed.

I hear the accompanying thought and I want to rip his tongue out before he can say something so hurtful. Though I know my warning might have the opposite effect, I can't stay silent—Bella is clearly trying to hide how much his words have already upset her, but I can feel her trembling. " _Don't_ ," I warn.

Bella glances back at him, perhaps thinking my warning is against something he plans to do. This time, she doesn't turn away; perhaps she sees the pain behind his anger. She reaches for him, and for a moment, he sees only Bella, the girl he loves. He takes a step towards her and pulls her hand against his heart, holding it there with one of his. She tenses, but doesn't resist. The agony of her mental silence has never been more acute.

"I'll still be _me_ ," she says softly, trying to comfort him.

It is the last thing he wants to hear. His eyes harden. "No, you won't. Better you _really_ be dead."

She gasps and tries to pull out of his grasp. He tightens his grip, and this time, she gasps in pain. I am frozen—I can't risk touching him, because I know his temper can't cope with that, but I can't leave him to hurt her. Before I come up with a viable option, Bella loses her balance.

Holding myself perfectly still, I watch as she puts out her hand to steady herself against my chest, while he tries to pull her back, away from me—he has loosened his grip, his thoughts full of regret for hurting her, and now his focus is getting her away from me—but she resists this time. She tries to yank her arm out of his grip, but she only wrenches her arm and loses her balance again. She is further away from me this time, so instead of grabbing _me_ , as I expect, she grabs the crate in front of me.

Her hand lands on wood that I cracked between my fingers in that moment of barely controlled rage. She shrieks as the splinters pierce her skin.

Jacob releases her and staggers back a pace, shocked at what he's done—so shocked that he doesn't even spare a thought for the vampire in the room. (His thoughtlessness irritates me, but at least he doesn't get in my way.) I lift her into the crate with me and set her down on a smooth plank of wood nailed into the opposite side that would've acted as support for the top of the crate. It's a little too narrow for her to sit comfortably, but I don't want to waste time arguing to be allowed outside my pen—or give them a chance to stop me treating her.

She is struggling to keep the tears from falling; although the heel of her hand is a bloody mess, I know the pain of Jacob's words cuts deeper. Moving with purposeful slowness, I kneel down in front of her, then take her hand in both of mine and gently turn her palm up so I can get at the splinters more easily. She watches in silence, her expression one of complete trust, as I begin pulling them out, being as gentle as possible.

The scent of her blood calls to me—but not simply to the monster that craves only blood. Though I'd thought my deepest instincts were all tied to my vampiric nature, her blood stirs protective instincts that I didn't know were remotely comparable with the intensity of my thirst.

Were I not so upset on her behalf, I would laugh at the thoughts filling every mind in the room. Some are waiting for the vampire to reveal itself, others are wondering how long the vampire can endure the scent of blood, and the rest are marvelling at my impossible self-control—but weaving through every thought is the image of me sinking my teeth into Bella's wrist.

"You don't have to stay," Bella murmurs, distracting me. "I can do that—"

"I'm fine," I assure her, careful to speak calmly.

She doesn't believe me; neither does anyone else.

"You don't have to suffer," she says.

For a full second, I take a break from my task to stare at her, amazed that she really can forgive me so easily, after all the suffering I have caused her. But I know she won't like me pointing that out. Then I think of something much better—something I think she will believe.

"I just lived through thirty-six minutes thinking you might be dead— _no_ part of me wants to put myself through that again."

" _No_ part?" she asks softly.

I nod. "I can't live without you—even the monster shies away from that kind of pain."

She gives me a little smile.

And then my phone rings. I start, but Bella doesn't seem at all surprised. I hesitate a moment, unwilling to stop tending her wounds—although I have already removed over a dozen of the largest splinters, there are still many more embedded in her palm—but I know who it will be. I can't afford to ignore Alice's call if she's seen something about Victoria.

Bella finds the solution first: she reaches down with her free hand and rummages in my pocket to retrieve the phone. She grins when she sees who is calling.

"Alice!" she exclaims as she puts the phone to her ear. "I was _just_ thinking about you!" I don't like the sound of that—I have a feeling I know exactly what she was thinking.

Through the phone, I hear Alice gasp. " _Bella?_ " The shock in her voice surprises me—why didn't she know I was with Bella?

"Who else would it be?" Bella teases. "How many girls answer Edward's phone?"

" _None_ ," Alice retorts, not amused. " _Where is he?_ "

"Right here—he would've answered himself, but his hands are covered in my blood." She laughs at her joke, then pauses, her face expressing puzzlement, no doubt at the oddness of _Alice_ asking that question.

" _What happened?_ " Alice asks sharply. " _Where are you?_ "

I spare a second to gesture for the phone; Bella holds it by my ear. "Alice," I say. "What's wrong?"

" _Aside from Bella's sense of humour?_ " she replies dryly.

"She wasn't joking," I say, unable to avoid teasing her myself. Then I add, " _Exaggerating_ , but not joking."

Alice doesn't answer for a moment. Then she repeats her questions—the other way around.

Bella pulls the phone back before I can answer; Alice's shrill voice must've been loud enough for her ears. "I caught my hand on a rough bit of wood," she explains; "although it _wasn't_ my fault this time."

" _Are you in Forks?_ " Alice asks, obviously trying for a yes-or-no answer.

"Not _exactly_ ," Bella replies; I am glad she sees the sense in sparing Alice the shock of the real answer.

" _Bella!_ " Alice shrieks. " _Tell me where you are right_ now _!_ "

"Why? What's the matter?"

" _I can't see Edward's future_."

Bella's eyes widen in horror. "What does that mean?" she asks, although from her expression, she is already fearing the worst.

I gesture for the phone again, and Bella mechanically moves it closer to my head. "What about Bella's?" I ask.

" _I hadn't_ looked," she snaps.

"Please look now."

There is silence for two full seconds, then half a sob. " _Nothing!_ " she moans.

"Charlie?" I suggest, testing the suspicion forming in my head.

Alice sighs with relief. " _Fishing_ ," she murmurs. Then another gasp. " _A funeral—he's going to a funeral!_ "

"Whose?"

" _I don't know! I can't_ see _! I can only see him in a suit—wait, Bella's with him. But she's not going_." We both breathe a sigh of relief: it isn't Bella or someone she knows well.

"Where's Victoria?"

" _Still in Rio_."

That throws me. "She never went to Rio—I think she's in Seattle."

" _What?_ "

"Can you see her now?"

" _Yes. She isn't doing anything_ ," Alice replies uncertainly.

"What about tonight?"

A second goes by. Then, " _I can't see her!_ "

My hunch seems to be holding: Alice can't see us now, nor Victoria tonight, because the wolves block her sight. How typical of the ill fortune that seems to plague Bella. Although the vengeful redhead has unwittingly profited from an apparent blind spot in Alice's gift, she must think _her_ precautions are working. If only we could take advantage of that. If only the wolves would accept my help in hunting her. But that is speculation for another time.

"I may have a theory—"

" _What?_ " Alice demands.

"You won't like it."

" _Try me_."

"Not right now—"

" _Edward!_ "

I empathise with her frustration, but the councilmembers are growing more aggravated with the conversation by the second.

Bella takes the phone back. "We'll call you back in an hour," she promises.

" _Sixty minutes_ ," Alice insists.

"Yes—I promise."

Alice sighs. " _One hour. I'll be waiting._ "

Bella opens her mouth to reply, then pauses. "I missed you," she murmurs.

" _I missed you, too_ ," Alice replies. " _I'm sorry I didn't get to say goodbye._ "

"I don't blame you," Bella assures her; her slight emphasis on the last word makes me cringe.

She hangs up the phone, then slides it back into my pocket.

"I'm sorry," I say, though I know the words count for little.

She sighs. "It isn't just _you_ I love," she reminds me.

"They love you, too," I reply. In trying to do the right thing, I have hurt a lot of people.

"Did they try to talk you out of it?" she asks, abruptly curious.

"I didn't give them the option," I say, though that is not strictly true—their thoughts made their feelings abundantly clear. Only Rosalie didn't care about Bella, but she more than made up for that with her protests about leaving Forks.

"So the rest will come back now?" Jacob asks bitterly.

Bella glances at him, then quickly refocuses on me. "If you're going to stay human," she says, sounding almost bored, "go put some clothes on."

"Do I make you feel… _uncomfortable_?" he asks, trying to goad her into a response.

She lifts her eyes to his and fixes him with such a withering glare that he hunches in on himself; she doesn't need to chastise him for his childish vulgarity.

He strides out of the room without another word, his thoughts a whirl of anger, jealousy, and guilt. He knows he should apologise for hurting her, but he won't say he's sorry for speaking the truth. He comes back wearing a pair of cut-off jeans like Sam's, though Jacob deliberately chose ones that are considerably shorter.

His efforts are seemingly wasted: Bella continues to ignore him. Her disdain pleases me even more than it irritates him (and considering he would take her anger over this total disregard, he is _very_ irritated).


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3: Negotiator**

When Bella's hand is finally splinter-free, Emily brings me a bowl of warm water and some antiseptic cream to wash out the wound, along with a couple of bandages from their first-aid kit; despite the tentative trust Sam feels towards me, he takes the items from her and passes them to me himself. Bella refuses the offer of painkillers, and I am glad that there were no rusty nails in the wood, because she won't need a tetanus shot. Once the wound is thoroughly clean, I bandage her hand carefully, wrapping the soft fabric around her hand and wrist in a way I hope will support her wrist without pinching the wounds when she moves.

"What's that?" she asks sharply. Her eyes are fixed on the white blemishes on my forearm.

I sigh. "I didn't think you'd be able to see that."

"Well, I _can_." She leans closer. "Are those _teeth_?" she shrieks. Then she glares at Jacob. "You _bit_ him?"

"He broke the treaty," Jacob retorts, unrepentant.

She glares at him for another moment, then watches as I secure the end of the bandage beneath the section supporting the back of her wrist. The moment I am done, she grabs my arm with her good hand and pulls it closer, peering down at the jagged scar. She traces her finger along the line, looking a little comforted by its smoothness.

"Does it still hurt?"

Jacob snorts; we both ignore him.

"I heal even faster than the wolves."

She purses her lips—I wonder if she thinks I'm avoiding the question—and then searches my eyes for something. After a few seconds, she smiles, seemingly satisfied with what she sees there. "You're not any hungrier," she says happily.

"No," I agree; she doesn't need to know that I was so well fed to begin with to make sure I'll be as strong as possible when I catch up with Victoria. Or that I starved myself for weeks after I left her—because it was easier to stay away when I was afraid that my self-control might snap.

She stares down at her hand; the bandage is already turning pink in a few places, marking the largest splinters. "I do feel bad about the waste, though," she muses. Then she looks up at me, her brown eyes so full of love.

I stare at her, trying to comprehend what she is saying. The others in the room have drawn the same startling conclusion, so I know it isn't just my clouded judgement making me think she means to let me lick her wounds.

"I appreciate the offer," I murmur, touched to the core by her interminable generosity.

Her brows crinkle ever so slightly. " _But?_ " she prompts.

"I'm not going to weaken you, Bella."

She shrugs, but doesn't argue.

"How's the bandage?" I ask, trying to take care of my patient. "Not too tight?"

"Nope, it's great. Just as good as Carlisle's," she teases.

I can't help but smile; only Bella could joke about such things. "It's a technique I learned from him," I say.

She smiles back, then stands up. When she points at the spot she has just vacated, I take the hint and sit, and then she sits sideways in my lap—her body facing in the council's general direction, her back towards Jacob—and drapes an arm around my neck. My arms wrap themselves around her without conscious thought.

"Much better," she murmurs, and I can't help but agree.

"You're sitting on a _rock_ ," Jacob remarks harshly—though there are worse words in his head (I am relieved he avoided _corpse_ ).

" _My_ rock," Bella replies, still gazing into my eyes, not the least bit self-conscious. She rests her bandaged hand against my neck, no doubt to take advantage of my icy skin.

I want to kiss her, and I am sure she feels the same way, but after a moment, she turns her head to face the council.

"Edward will make sure I don't hurt anyone," she tells them. "You know Carlisle works in the hospital, saving countless lives, and you've just seen proof of Edward's self-control. They _will_ teach me how to control the thirst—even if Edward and I have to live in Antarctica for a year or two and eat penguins."

"There are people in Antarctica, too," I tease, amused by Bella's zany plan.

"Then we'll find an uninhabited island somewhere down there. Sea lions can't be _that_ different to mountain lions."

"I would say they're _quite_ different," I reply, imagining having to rip through the thick layer of blubber to reach a decent vein.

"Saltier?"

"And fattier."

She hums indifferently. "I don't want to kill whales, though. Or dolphins."

I am irritated that I've let her draw me into a discussion about her first meal as a newborn, but before I can change the subject, her eyes suddenly light up.

"We could buy a deer farm!" she exclaims. "Then the meat wouldn't have to go to waste."

Her enthusiasm inspires me as much as the idea intrigues the others. I have no doubt Bella will revolutionise our lives even more than she has already—and then I realise I am thinking of her as a vampire. Am I really giving in already?

"Would the meat be safe for human consumption?" Billy asks, thinking of our potent venom infecting the entire corpse.

"We'll make sure it is," Bella says, not the least bit concerned. "Even if we have to drain out the blood some other way."

I can't help but grimace at that. Animal blood is bad enough without drinking dead blood—even a hungry vampire would think twice before drinking from a _human_ corpse more than ten minutes old. Perhaps removing the blood from the corpse immediately would maintain enough of its integrity, but it would then have to be chilled. _Yuck_.

"Dracula didn't mind drinking out of a cup," she teases, picking up on the reason for my distaste.

I roll my eyes. "Dracula also had fangs and could fly," I reply, avoiding mention of his legendary ability to turn into various creatures, in case it irritates the wolves.

"So blood banks are safe from vampires?"

"Totally."

She laughs at that, then smiles at Billy. "Ingesting the venom shouldn't harm anyone. I've shared food with Edward."

No one in the room thinks sharing food remotely compares to _kissing_ me, though Emily and Sam are curious that I have eaten food.

"For Charlie's sake," I explain; they don't need to know about Bella's dare—though Bella's smirk suggests that's what _she's_ thinking of, too.

"Animals fear vampires," Quil Ateara points out, and I am surprised he has decided to engage in a conversation based on Bella's intent to become the thing he hates most in the world. "How would you farm them?"

"We could hire people to take care of the live animals," she answers immediately, as though she has it all planned out already.

He isn't convinced that it would work—he believes that, in time, we will grow to forget the reasons for our current restraint. Forever is a long time to promise to curb our natural appetites.

"Carlisle is over three hundred years old," I say to him, "and we have friends in the north who share our lifestyle who are over one thousand years old." I leave out the detail that they have not shared our lifestyle for all of those years. "We will not change our minds. We will not become murderers."

They all consider my words in silence for some time—Bella obviously didn't tell them our full history, for they had no idea Carlisle was so ancient—but gradually, their thoughts settle into a surprisingly accepting frame of mind. Only Jacob and Quil Ateara are still adamant in their distrust and dislike.

Jacob sees the tension leaving their faces and feels betrayed. "You can't seriously be considering granting him permission to _kill_ her!" he cries.

"We are considering Bella's right to choose," Billy replies.

Sam nods; he has already decided. From the others' thoughts, I know it doesn't take a mind-reader to see that he is, impossibly, siding with Bella. Jacob's arms begin to shake. Sam places a hand on his arm, but Jacob shakes it off.

"The bloodsucker might be good at pretending, but it doesn't change what he _is_."

"He took no action to defend himself," Sam reminds him, and I hear in his thoughts that vampire venom is deadly to the wolves—a single bite would cause slow, agonising death. The three in wolf form are thinking the same thing, though their thoughts are less focused, so through them I learn pieces of the legend that this knowledge is preserved in.

Jacob rejects the argument, but Billy speaks up before he can gather his thoughts into words.

"The treaty is an important part of our history," he says solemnly, "and we take pride in it. We are not savages. We believe in judging a man by his actions, not by the forces beyond anyone's control."

I smile, appreciating the sentiment. Though Billy has never completely trusted us—as he is right not to—he had renewed the treaty for those very reasons. And then I hear in his thoughts that Bella's suffering had made him wish he had refused us, and I add him to the list of people affected by my doomed efforts.

"The treaty is important to us, too," I say. "Forks is our home, and we couldn't settle there without your blessing. I am truly sorry for all the suffering I have caused you and your people."

"Your gracious words don't match your decision to enter our land," Harry points out.

"Bella is more important to me than anything," I say. "I would do anything for her."

"You'd _kill_ for her?" Billy asks suddenly—and he is picturing me killing people for Bella to drink their blood without becoming a murderer herself.

I can't help but laugh, though I try to rein in my amusement. "I don't think she'd see it that way."

"See what?" Bella asks.

"If _I_ killed people so you could drink their blood."

Her eyes widen. "No, that's still murder," she murmurs.

"Bella cannot say how she will feel after the change," Billy points out, ignoring her, "and you cannot truthfully promise you would not cater to her will in that way."

"No," I agree, unable to argue otherwise.

"You didn't hurt those stupid drunks in Port Angeles," Bella says suddenly.

I wince at her innocent remark—she has no idea the evil she faced that night, and I am glad—but of course my reaction sets everyone on edge.

"What drunks?" Billy asks.

"I didn't hurt them," I insist, but they don't believe me. I am at a loss to know how I can convince them without rousing Bella's suspicions.

"I got lost in Port Angeles," Bella tells them, "and it got dark really fast, and this group of guys cornered me and… they were drunk and not thinking straight—" none of her audience is deceived by her attempts to downplay the attack—"but then Edward found me. So nothing happened. _We_ went to dinner, and _they_ … sobered up." We all hear the sudden doubt in her voice, and I wonder if she is remembering my ferociousness even after dinner.

"Is that _all_ that happened, Edward?" Billy asks me pointedly.

"Yes—although I made sure human justice caught up with them," I reply, unable to leave them thinking that I'd let anyone get away with threatening Bella, but hoping I can still keep it general.

Bella shakes her head. " _How?_ They didn't _do_ anything."

"One of them was wanted by police," I admit, trying to be casual about it. "I told Carlisle where he was, and he sedated him and then left him at the nearest police station," I say, stretching the truth a little in the hope of distracting her—and the others—from wondering _what_ he was wanted for.

"You never said," she mumbles.

"It wasn't important," I reply, trying to keep it light.

She doesn't fall for it. "What had he done?" she asks, her quick eyes boring into mine.

I try to keep my face blank, but no one mistakes my intense reluctance to answer for indifference, and I struggle to find an alternative answer while under such close scrutiny from Bella.

"Murder," I admit heavily, leaving out the rape. "They executed him," I blurt.

Her eyes widen. "You heard it in his thoughts?" she murmurs, and I can hear the beginnings of shock in her voice.

I nod curtly, hoping she'll leave it at that. Of course, she doesn't.

"Was he thinking about… killing again?"

I close my eyes, trying to hide the fury the memory of his thoughts inspires in me. "Please don't ask me that," I murmur, even though I know it sounds bad, because admitting the truth of what he'd planned to do to her is even worse.

She doesn't respond. I open my eyes, unable to deny myself the ability to study her careful expression for myself. She stares at me for a moment, then she strokes my cheek with her uninjured hand. "That's three times you've saved my life," she reminds me. "It's _my_ turn to—"

"There aren't any _turns_ ," I say, interrupting. "I acted for your sake, not for any other purpose."

Jacob snorts at that; he thinks I used her need for such careful guarding to my advantage—that I tricked her into loving me. Suddenly, I find myself remembering _his_ role in Bella identifying my secret. _He_ broke the treaty first. I wonder if his tribe knows that.

"Edward forgave _you_ when _you_ broke the treaty," Bella says pointedly, and I can't help but smile at the alignment of our thoughts.

Jacob's lip curls. "I didn't break anything. He wanted you to know."

I am about to point out that if I'd wanted her to know, I would've told her myself, when he thinks back to that innocent day on the beach, when life had been simple. He'd been telling Bella about his hobby project of building a car for himself when one of the girls—I recognise Lauren at once—had mentioned my family. Bella had reacted strangely to Sam's pronouncement— _The Cullens don't come here_ —but he hadn't thought much of it, even when she asked about it later. He had enjoyed her intense reaction to a simple story that meant almost nothing to him. Even her surprisingly serious questions didn't raise much suspicion.

I watch his memory greedily, for the first time seeing Bella's efforts at flirting—and her reaction to the news that not only am I a vampire, but I last lived in Forks at the time of Jacob's great-grandfather. _"I'll take it to the grave."_

So she had feared that I might kill her from the beginning, and yet she had willingly put herself in my power without knowing my intentions. She had given over her life to me as completely as I had given mine to her. Evidently, I have belittled her feelings to an extent far beyond my wildest estimation.

And then Jacob suddenly remembers I am privy to his thoughts. His mind closes down so quickly that I flinch—one moment, he is picturing Bella smiling, her eyes bright, and the next, he pictures her frozen in the middle of an essay on _The Taming of the Shrew_ , struggling to articulate how Petruchio's extreme measures saved Katherina from a lonely, bitter life.

"To think I ever felt sorry for you," I snap before I can control myself.

"Sorry for _me_?" he retorts, shaking again—except this time, he can't calm himself. He is too angry at the thought of _me_ —a bloodsucking corpse—feeling sorry for _him_. He hates me for stealing Bella's love, and for presenting such a reasonable, genuine façade that I have not only convinced his father and the others that I am not evil, but have also helped Bella persuade them that she isn't insane to seek death in the form of vampire venom.

Sam is about to drag him outside when he takes off, realising on his own that he needs to leave before he hurts someone. He doesn't make it all the way down the hallway before the wolf explodes out of him, taking part of the wall with him. Bella and the others jump at the noise. I feel guilty that he has demolished part of the house because I caused him to lose his temper.

He throws all his strength into his legs, running full tilt. He is considering running to Canada—maybe then I won't be able to hear his thoughts so clearly—except he knows as long as he remains a wolf, his thoughts are tied to the wolves by my side. He wants to change back, but he has no clothes and his temper is too high.

Jared growls—he is trying to tell Jacob not to go so far, but Jacob isn't listening—and Sam is worried, too. He wants to stay for the rest of my trial—he is a member of the council, after all—but he can't let Jacob go off on his own.

"Alice sees Victoria trying again tonight," I say, hoping that might encourage Jacob to change his mind and stay in the Reservation. It does, partially; he stops planning to run all night and starts looking for a place to hole up till nightfall.

Sam eyes me with interest, two thoughts strongest—that I am a useful spokesperson for the wolves, and that I can hear the redhead's thoughts. It may be beyond their control to fight alongside me, but he imagines me somehow keeping them updated on Victoria's plans, to help them intercept her; I could communicate with him via an earpiece.

"Even if that would work, I'd have to be close to hear her thoughts," I say. "And unless you can _all_ trust me not to attack you, we'll end up getting in each other's way and she might—" _she might get past us_. I can't even say it.

Sam shares my horror; although Bella is her target, she could easily kill Emily and any number of his tribe in order to get to her—and he cares for Bella, too.

"She keeps slipping through our lines," Sam says, for the benefit of his wolves. "We need you to tell us what she's doing—and if she doesn't know we're working together, we might be able to corner her that much faster."

"I'm not sure _pretending_ not to get along is a good idea," I say. "But otherwise, I agree." I wish I could call my brothers to assist, but I know the wolves can't tolerate that.

"No," Bella says; I am surprised she hasn't spoken up earlier. "If Jacob can't keep his temper _here_ , how will he manage when Victoria—?" She breaks off. "It's too dangerous—for all of you!"

"Victoria won't be tainting perfectly good air by breathing in and out for much longer. I won't let her get away with terrorising you—or her part in James's—"

"You promised you'd never leave me again," she reminds me sharply. "You can't go after her without leaving."

"I won't be leaving—she's _here_." We both shudder at the shocking truth of that. To distract her, I tap my head. "I have the advantage."

"She's older—and stronger."

"So you'd rather I leave the wolves to fight her on their own?"

She flinches. "Of course not! I don't want _anyone_ risking their lives for me—not when _I_ could—"

"Absolutely not."

She looks triumphant. " _You_ can't stand the idea either."

I sigh. "She _is_ skilled—more than a match for any newborn." I try not to picture Bella fighting her, but my mind unhelpfully inserts her into the memories I picked up from the wolves. I wince.

The humans in the room ask what I mean by "newborn", so I give them a brief explanation. Even though I leave out the greater influence of their instincts, they don't like what they hear.

"From the way Victoria is acting," I say, getting back on topic, "she isn't prepared to _die_ to avenge her mate, but she seems very determined—she'll keep running away until she finds a way in."

"If you fight with us," Sam says, "she won't get away."

I'm still not sure they won't end up turning on me—none of the other wolves likes the idea of entrusting their lives to me; even Jared, Sam's second-in-command, is wary of me, despite his alpha's confidence. "If she sees me, and she _does_ escape, we might lose her."

"You can _hear_ what she's thinking—how can we lose her?"

"My range isn't infinite. I will be able to pinpoint her mind from perhaps two miles away, but I won't be able to hear exactly what she's thinking beyond five or six hundred yards."

They are all interested—and more than a little unnerved—to hear the extent of my ability, and I'm glad I have undersold it a little; they don't need to know that the more familiar I am with a person's 'voice', the greater the distance over which I can hear their thoughts.

"Then we won't let her get that far away," Sam replies. His growing certainty feels strangely nice—I like the opinion he is forming of me. I hope I can live up to it.

And then Billy's thoughts distract me. He is as confident as Sam that my assistance will be the extra the wolves need to catch her.

"If you will fight with us to rid us of the redheaded demon," he says, "we will forgive your trespass today."

His fellow (human) councilmembers are somewhat peeved by the offer, but they see the sense in it, so they don't argue. Though they aren't as inclined to acknowledge my humanity, they both see the difference between me and the vampires they despise.

There is something they seem to be overlooking, though. "If she goes on Quileute land—"

"Until the redhead is destroyed," Billy interrupts me, "you have permission to move freely through our lands."

I am amazed, not to mention honoured. Although he still sees me as a danger to their people, he trusts me enough to recognise that the threat posed by Victoria is hundreds of times greater. If only the other half of the council (and the majority of the wolf pack) agreed with him; but the council is not my concern—beyond doing my best to show them I will honour my word—and I believe Sam can bring the wolves around, so I nod. "I will hunt with the wolf pack until Victoria is ash."

" _No_ ," Bella mumbles.

I touch her cheek. "She's no match for _me_. I won't let her hurt you or anyone else." Embry and Jared's reaction to that statement amuses me, so I say, "I'm counting the pack in that, too."

 _We don't need_ your _protection_ , Paul retorts.

"I mean no offence," I tell him. "You have protected your lands from a very determined vampire, but she has been taking advantage of that fact—with _my_ help, you won't have to risk your lives _or_ your land to stop her."

Sam nods. "With your help, running won't save her."

I smile, sharing his anticipation of victory. Almost as one (Jacob being the notable exception), the wolves picture ripping Victoria to pieces with intense satisfaction, and I completely agree. When Jacob pictures tossing me on the bonfire meant for Victoria, I am surprised by Jared and Embry's disapproval, and even Paul doesn't think it would be right to turn on me if I honour our bargain and the treaty. Then, trying to be stealthy about it, Jared quietly points out that it would be difficult to catch _me_ by surprise.

"Very difficult," I agree, enjoying the chance to be open about my mind-reading ability with people who aren't my family, and who don't think I'm a freak (at least, not for _that_ reason). But the wolves don't appreciate my joke. "I'm sorry," I say. "It's novel for me not to have to hide my ability to read minds—I didn't mean to make you uneasy."

 _Even though we were thinking about turning on you?_ Paul asks.

I shrug. "If you can control yourselves until Victoria is in pieces, I promise not to overstay my welcome. And even if you do turn on me, I won't retaliate."

Bella stiffens, and I regret my openness, but for now, I have to focus on the wolves. Jacob absolutely doesn't trust me, while Sam and the others are more inclined to believe in my tolerance. After all, I let Jacob rip my arm off without complaint.

"I can take down Victoria myself," I tell them, "and I would gladly do it, but if I have to let her go when she crosses onto Quileute lands, she will have the advantage."

Sam nods. "It's pointless forcing you to abide by the treaty while the redhead runs where she likes."

The wolves don't appreciate his bluntness—they have at least managed to keep her away from La Push and from Forks—but they understand his point, and this time, they grudgingly accept that I must be given permission to enter their lands.

To remind them of something positive—the potential for a unique and highly successful partnership—I say, "If we work together tonight, we'll catch her."

They all like the sound of that, even Jacob. Tonight can't come soon enough.

"Alice may be able to predict when she'll get here, but that's likely to be as much as she can help."

"Why?" Sam asks, remembering Alice's frantic phone call earlier.

"I think she is unable to predict the outcomes of _your_ decisions—you are supernatural beings she has no experience with and little understanding of."

Even though it leaves us blind tonight, they like the sound of that. It reminds me of Bella's delight at being immune to my gift, despite the difficulties it has caused. And then I wonder if I could've left her if I'd been able to hear her pain. I flinch internally—no, I couldn't have lied to her if I'd been able to hear her heart break.

Sam gestures for me to step out of the box. "You're not on trial anymore," he says, "and we need to plan."

No one else (besides Jacob) objects—their thoughts confirm their unease, but they are no longer _afraid_ of me—so I take Bella in my arms before she can stand up (much to her disgust), and step out of the box, jumping just enough to clear the side.

Sam directs Embry and Jared to remove the crate, then shifts an armchair into the middle of the room for me to sit down in, angling it to face in between the council and Emily and Sue. After I sit, Bella moves so that her back is resting on my chest, so she is facing the others, too.

She glances down at her hand; the bandage is tinged pink across the entire heel of her hand now. I will have to change it soon. "You still okay?" she asks me, twisting her neck to look back at me.

I smile. " _I_ am. You?"

She smiles back. "Peachy."

I can't help but laugh; Sam and Emily smile, and Billy is more amused than concerned, but the others don't like my seemingly cavalier attitude. Their fears return—all it would take is for me to lose focus for a single second, and I could slaughter them all.

"I _am_ a mind-reader," I remind them, directly myself to Quil Ateara in particular. "You are completely safe from me."

Bella giggles, though I doubt she has any idea of the things some members of our audience are imagining. If I were any less resolved, they would have severely tested my self-control—and she would likely have suffered for it.

Quil and the others whose thoughts had strayed to picturing me committing their murders in various bloody ways hastily try to sanitise their thoughts, embarrassment helping them refocus.

Billy breaks the silence quickly, advancing the discussion. "We will invite Charlie and Bella to eat here with us tonight, while the pack and Edward seek the redhead."

Sam and I nod in agreement, and then I suggest a further element to this plan.

"I'll drive Bella's truck back to Forks—if Victoria _does_ manage to get that far, she might be fooled for a minute or two."

Bella looks half-ready to argue, but then she sighs. "Don't hurt my truck."

"I won't," I promise, forgoing any teasing remarks—because that beast of a machine had led me to Bella.

The others are amused (or exasperated) by Bella's concern for her truck when she isn't remotely afraid for herself, and I am surprised they don't think she's crazy for having such backwards instincts.

"But before you do that," Bella says ominously, "we're calling Alice."


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4: Guest**

I let Bella take the lead—Alice isn't angry with _her_ —although I know that won't save me for long. Calling after only 41 minutes will only earn a little goodwill, and I have a mountain range of mistakes to make up for.

 _"_ _Explain,"_ Alice demands the moment she answers.

"Victoria is trying to kill me," Bella says, getting straight to the point. "She came here about a week ago, but the Quileute wolf pack has managed to keep her out."

 _"_ _Pack?"_

"There are five shape-shifters in the tribe now," I tell her. "I think they're the reason you can't see us—because you can't see them."

 _"_ _Then why can't I see Victoria in_ Seattle _?"_

"I don't know," I admit. "But hopefully I'll find out tonight."

 _"_ _You'd better."_

"I'm sorry, Alice," I say, knowing she won't be remotely appeased, but needing to say it anyway.

 _"_ _Can we all come home now?"_ she asks pointedly.

"Yes," I say guiltily. "Tomorrow."

 _"_ _What's your plan to catch Victoria?"_

"Can you see exactly when she disappears from your sight?"

 _"_ _When it's_ dark _,"_ she snaps, and I regret asking the question; Victoria's schemes have obviously worked extremely well. _"What's your plan?"_ Alice repeats, and I can hear the worry in her voice, despite her efforts to hide it.

Bella eyes me meaningfully, so I give Alice the full version. "I broke the treaty, but the Quileutes are letting me make up for it by hunting Victoria with them. The pack and I are going to work together—they're letting me on their land. We're in La Push now."

That surprises her so much that she doesn't speak for almost ten seconds. Then she snaps, _"Is there anything else I need to know?"_

"I don't think so… but please keep Victoria's involvement to yourself until she is defeated."

"How soon will you be back?" Bella asks.

 _"_ _Tomorrow,"_ Alice promises, making her smile.

"I love you, Alice."

 _"_ _I love you, too,_ Bella _,"_ she replies emphatically. Then she hangs up.

"You really _are_ in trouble," Bella observes.

I sigh. "I hurt her, too, and I didn't listen to her when she insisted I was making a monumental mistake—and she was right."

She strokes my cheek and I give her a quick kiss that soon becomes a lingering series of kisses, each more passionate than the last. I ignore the thoughts around us for as long as possible—until Harry Clearwater is moments from storming inside to break the door down, even though Sam has told him he can hear Bella's steady heartbeat (which isn't completely true, since her heart is far from steady).

I tell her that the humans are getting restless, so we make our way outside to join Emily and the others.

"I'm curious," Bella says suddenly, and I chuckle softly—when isn't she? "Laurent was so sure the rain would wash away his scent."

That makes me laugh (because he's dead), though it also makes me wonder what they talked about. "Sounds like he got careless. I would've thought running with James would remind him how it works—but maybe he'd started thinking that James tracked through solely superhuman means."

"Didn't he?"

"Perhaps," I allow, "but a vampire's scent can linger for months, especially on certain materials. Although it's a wonder I managed to pick up _anything_ beneath the wolf stench." She makes a face at that, mistaking my joke for prejudice, so I add, " _I_ smell bad to them, too."

"You all smell fine to me."

"That's just you," I tease.

She frowns and I instantly regret saying something she could misconstrue. I can tell she is about to pull away from me, so I step in front of her before she can move. Bella narrows her eyes at me, not at all afraid by how fast I moved, but the wolves all tense and the humans freeze—this is the first time they've seen a vampire moving at a more natural speed. I ignore them; they aren't so afraid that they would risk interfering.

"You know I didn't mean it like that," I say.

She pouts. "I know _exactly_ what you meant."

"I _meant_ it as a compliment."

She scoffs.

"Bella," I murmur, stroking her cheek. "You _did_ go from hanging out with vampires to hanging out with _werewolves_ —" I use the term they give themselves, though they have no idea that _real_ werewolves are exactly as the legends say (bound to the full moon), because it emphasises my point more strongly.

" _I_ just see _people_."

I smile. "I know." I glance at Sam and Emily; while Sam is wondering how she can possibly see _vampires_ as people, Emily is thinking how kind and brave Bella is. "We _all_ appreciate it."

Bella glances around, as though she is only now realising that we have an audience again. She smiles at us all, humans, wolves, the wolf in human form, and me. There is no change in her expression as she looks around at her friends and me, and I marvel all over again at her exquisite open-mindedness and acceptance. She really doesn't see any difference between us all.

Then she remembers she's cross with me and she frowns again. It reminds me of the reason she has for genuine anger, so I give her the smile that makes her heart dance. She is distracted for a moment, then she deliberately closes her eyes.

"I don't want you to go after her," she says. " _Any_ of you."

"There are _six_ of us and _one_ of her," I point out. "And we have to. If we don't, she'll come _here_. Or she'll pay a visit to _Forks_." I don't need to say that she might run into Charlie there.

Bella sighs. She opens her eyes, and then folds her arms. "If Victoria bites me—"

"She won't get that close," I insist, interrupting her.

"Sure," she agrees flippantly. "But if she _does_ , don't you dare stop the change."

I frown. "I will do what I think is—"

"No," she snaps. "What _you_ think is best for me is _not_ what _I_ think is best for me."

When I go to argue—that I know what it means to be a vampire, and it isn't worth risking her soul—she holds up her hand.

"I know what I'm asking," she says firmly. "I haven't forgotten what it feels like—" we both wince—"and I _will_ stay silent this time." I can't help but make a face; I remember her screams all too well. "Carlisle did," she points out, probably in reaction to my expression. "And I'll have even an even better reason than _he_ did."

The others are curious, and so am I—though of course, I know half of what she's referring to. "What reason?"

"He was just hiding. I'll be trying not to torture you."

I cringe. "Even if you somehow manage not to scream, I'll still know exactly what you're going through."

She squares her jaw. "Not _exactly_."

"Close enough."

"It's only three days," she insists. "Three days for _eternity_."

I'm too conflicted to know what to say to that. There is nothing I want more than eternity with her—but she's wrong. It's not just three days, it's the rest of her human life, and maybe her soul, too.

"There's only _one_ certainty here," she goes on, sensing weakness. "One day, unless you change me, I _will_ die. Your reason for _not_ changing me is based on something you don't even know is true."

"That's a gross oversimplification."

She purses her lips. "All right. Let's say you get your way. What if I make it to seventy-five and then I get some horrible disease—or _cancer_? What then? Will you leave me to suffer, or will you change me then, when I'll be stuck at seventy-five forever, and everyone will think I'm your _grandmother_." She shudders. " _Carlisle's_ grandmother! I can't cope with that!"

I am still lost for words. She makes a valid point—even Sam, Emily, and Billy think so, and they hate it as much as I do—but does it justify pre-emptively jeopardising her soul?

Before I can come up with anything, Sue stands up. "Lunch is almost ready," she says. "Everyone go wash up."

Bella sighs, giving up the argument for the moment.

While the humans start making their way to one sink or other in the house, the pack members in wolf form aren't sure what to do. They are afraid to phase back while I'm here—they feel vulnerable—but they're hungry, and they know they'll need their strength tonight. (Jacob is eager to be alone and free of me, and they feel less anxious when he promises to return to the Reservation; I wouldn't believe him if I didn't know he won't leave his pack to face Victoria without him.)

"You're safe from me," I remind them. "And it will be much easier to eat with hands."

Bella rolls her eyes at my vague attempt at humour, then goes inside to wash.

Sam watches me for a moment, then tells his pack to get ready for lunch. As they slink inside to phase, Sam turns to me. "Help me set up the table out here?"

"Sure," I reply, listening to his plan, which involves me _not_ going into the small dining area, which will be very crowded when everyone is seated there; I appreciate that he is bringing the party outside so that I am not excluded. "I'll wait here."

He nods, then goes inside to start bringing out the tables and chairs. I plan out the best arrangement for the available resources, and then place each piece as Sam gives it to me.

After everything is ready, the wolves start bringing out the food. There is a lot of it. I sit between Bella and Sam, keeping my eyes on Bella to avoid making anyone too uncomfortable. As they settle into the meal, the number of nervous glances directed my way tapers off.

Watching Bella and the others eat reminds me of _my_ need for sustenance—I need to be as strong as possible when we face Victoria: I will have to hunt before tonight. Which means I will have to leave Bella. Even the thought of leaving for ten minutes makes me sick—metaphorically speaking—but if I let my lack of self-control weaken me tonight, I would be doing her an even greater disservice.

Of course, Bella notices my troubled frown, and it feeds her own nerves. I shove aside the self-reproach and smile at her. "I was just thinking that I probably need to find myself a deer or two before nightfall."

Her lower lip trembles, but she soon manages a small smile. "Wouldn't you prefer a mountain lion?"

I smile back, enjoying her reassurance, but the others are starting to lose their appetite, so I try for a distraction rather than giving a straight answer to her question. "I prefer to leave them alone during the breeding season."

It doesn't really work, but most of them solve the problem by switching to a food that doesn't make them picture me draining the blood out of Bambi—or a person. Sam, on the other hand, wonders whether there's really _that much_ difference between human blood and the blood of a non-human mammal. I look at him and nod. His curiosity is such that I decide to answer him verbally.

"Herbivores are least appealing," I murmur.

 _You mostly eat_ deer _, don't you?_

I nod. "We choose deer because they're commonest—we'd rather not be responsible for driving any species extinct."

He laughs, amused by the thought of socially responsible, environmentally conscious vampires. Everyone is surprised by his laughter, but it has the effect of settling their unease, mostly. Harry Clearwater and Quil Ateara still object to my unfettered presence, especially because my gift strips them of their most basic right to privacy, but neither one will complain about that aspect lest it imply disrespect or distaste for the wolves' telepathy (though they see that as an important cooperative tool, unlike _my_ telepathy, which they see as a weapon).

"You may not hunt on our lands," Quil says firmly. This is one thing he is confident his fellow councilmen will agree with, so Billy's and Sam's frowns confuse him. They are both wondering how I can replenish my strength without hunting on their lands or being unaccompanied at any point. Then Sam considers bringing me a couple of deer.

I can't help but shudder; the last time I fed in the vicinity of people, I was hunting human prey. Can I drink unappetising ungulate blood when I am surrounded by human substitutes?

"If I brought you a couple of deer, would that be okay?" Sam asks, pressing for a response.

I think about it for a moment, and the scent of Bella's fresh blood seems to become even more potent—yet my response to it remains unchanged. Surely if I can resist her fragrant blood, I can resist the others' pedestrian blood. _Surely_. "That could work," I agree, still a little hesitant.

They all pick up on my lack of absolute certainty, and almost every heartbeat accelerates. Trying to undo the damage I've caused—because now that the option may no longer be available to me, I _do_ feel confident I can handle it—I add, "I can control myself. If I thought there was any risk, I would say so. I won't expose Bella to any danger."

"It won't be the same as hunting," Bella points out, defending me.

Of course, no one takes her word for it, and the point only makes letting me drink blood in their vicinity seem _more_ dangerous.

"I'd rather hunt as usual," I say, "but if you can't allow that, then the alternative Sam suggests is perfectly workable."

 _You wouldn't be comfortable feeding in front of Bella_ , Quil thinks maliciously, _because whatever front you try to present, you are a soulless, evil creature who craves only blood and death_.

Though he is addressing me directly, it is only partly deliberate: I know from the accompanying feelings that he simply cannot control his thoughts. But there is also a part of him that enjoys the chance to be cruel without exposing it to his tribe (which competes with the coward that fears my retribution).

"I cannot escape what I am," I say, answering the others, though perhaps answering Quil more directly, "but I _am_ more than that. If my thirst controlled me, none of us would be here."

"And _I'd_ be dead," Bella points out. Then she smiles. "If you had died at seventeen—like you were _supposed_ to," she says, pointedly quoting me—" _I_ would've died at seventeen, too."

I roll my eyes, not accepting the point. "Tyler killing you with his van was not a certainty."

" _Something_ would've got me by now," she insists. "If not Tyler, then the men in Port Angeles—" I wince, picturing Bella suffering Rosalie's fate—"or _James_. Or Mike," she jokes, adding dying of _boredom_ to the list.

"Mike wouldn't have killed you at seventeen," I point out, struggling to keep it light (and not ruin Bella's joke).

"Maybe not," Bella concedes. "But Jessica might've."

I can't help but find that amusing. Bella sees my lips twitch and grins.

The wolves all know who Mike is—from Jacob's memories (I catch a glimpse of Mike, Jacob, and Bella at the movies)—and some of them vaguely remember a Jessica from the beach trip and rightly assume she must be jealous of Mike's interest in Bella, but the humans don't understand what she's talking about.

"Who's Mike?" Billy asks.

"He's in my class at school," Bella explains. "His parents own Newton's Outfitters, where I work. He _had_ given up on me, but he's been annoyingly interested again lately."

Sam gets a strong sense that her irritation with Mike is exacerbated by Jacob's interest in her, and I'm inordinately pleased by that idea. He remembers Jacob's memory of Bella agreeing that she likes him more than anyone else, but not in the way he likes her, and I feel torn between relief and shame. As much as her preference for Jacob's company without feeling anything stronger seems like the truth (at _that_ time), it is another example of the destruction I wrought on her life and her sanity.

I lean over and kiss her cheek. "I'll take care of that," I promise.

She smiles at me, then says, "Pity you didn't show up yesterday—you could've crashed work."

Her eyes dance, and I imagine she is picturing Mike's reaction to my sudden entrance. That thought makes me smile, too. But Mike is the least of our problems. "Pity I didn't show up a week ago," I remark, realising too late that such a comment will torpedo the good mood.

"Pity you left at _all_ ," Bella chides, confirming my slip.

"I'm sorry," I murmur, wishing there was something real that I could do to make up for all the heartache and fear I've caused her.

She takes another bite of her sandwich, then chews slowly. We all wait for her response—I am no longer the only one watching her intently—but the main theme running through the others' thoughts is still amazement at her miraculous transformation. I hope that they are right and that my presence alone is enough to repair the hurt I've caused her. "As long as you know what you did wrong," she says, "let's write it off as a learning experience."

I quirk a brow. "I know I shouldn't have left," I offer, guessing she's implying something else.

"You shouldn't have tried to change my mind by force."

"That topic is still off limits," I insist, before she can go into any more detail.

She shrugs indifferently. "I'm just saying, when I make up my mind, it's made up."

The description intrigues me; although I already know this about her, I've never heard her sound so decisive. It is almost as though she is part-vampire already—and yet she can't possibly appreciate how true the point is for us. Frozen as we are at the moment of change, any substantive changes after that point are abrupt and irrevocable (or the persistent work of centuries).

It reminds me of her resolute acceptance of her fate— _I'll take it to the grave_. "You left the window open for me," I murmur, focusing on the positive, and on our imperfect but arguably justified happiness.

She smiles back, but I can see surprise beneath her answering happiness; did she expect me to persevere with the negativity?

I don't know what else to say, so the conversation lapses. The wolves are still gorging themselves, but the humans are all slowing down. Bella chooses an apple and starts to crunch her way through it. Everyone is trying not to worry about tonight, or about Jacob. Then Sam thinks of something that cheers me up considerably.

"It would be my pleasure to help rebuild the hallway," I tell him, making the offer to Emily at the same time. "My mother Esme's hobby is restoring historic buildings, and my siblings and I usually contribute, so I certainly have the skills to repair the damage."

She smiles and thanks me, but she doesn't want to distract us from tonight's task.

"After I drop off Bella's truck, I could pick up the necessary building materials in my car—it won't take me long to repair the wall and repaint everything."

Sam thinks it's a great idea—he's especially keen on me doing all the work—but Emily's not so sure. She feels embarrassed that I am apparently offering to pay for the materials as well as complete the work for free, even though paying for it all herself would severely strain her budget. I like that she is thinking of me as she would any person.

"I would be glad to help," I tell her, hoping to ease her self-consciousness. "I feel somewhat responsible."

 _Somewhat?_ , Quil gripes, but I ignore him; it helps that the others are more equable in their apportioning of blame. Although Jacob has never lost control like that before, and they all understand why, they agree that he deserves some of the blame for riling me—and Sue thinks injuring Bella wouldn't have helped his state of mind.

"Thank you," Emily replies, gratefully accepting the offer.

The wolves finish up their meal and, although they want to phase back immediately, they manage not to be so rude. After helping Sam put the tables and extra chairs back inside, they grudgingly accept dish duty. Paul makes a case for one of them to phase back—to check on Jacob—and he thinks _he_ should be the one.

Sam enjoys the arguments, so he agrees. While Jared and Embry disappear into the kitchen, Paul ducks into the nearest shrubbery, shedding his t-shirt as he goes.

The grey wolf freezes in the garden when all is silent in his head, alarmed that he can't hear Jacob. Before the panic can get the better of him, I pass on the news (hoping Bella won't be worried). Sam is uneasy, but provides the calm reaction that Paul needs.

"He'll be back tonight," he says confidently. "He won't abandon us." _Or risk Bella_ —he tries to break off the thought as he realises that, in this case, not saying it aloud doesn't avoid the awkwardness.

I appreciate his consideration. To ease his embarrassment, I nod to him and say, "He has plenty of time to get back."

Bella frowns, and I wonder if she's hoping he'll stay away—out of harm's way.

To distract myself—and, if I'm honest, to remind her of his bad behaviour—I suggest that it might be time to change the bandage on her hand. While I unwind the bandage, Emily retrieves a fresh dressing from the bathroom.

As I expose the multiple punctures, some of which are still bleeding a little, I can't help inhaling her blissful scent. The smell of her fresh blood is wondrous—and yet there is no accompanying frenzy, no urge to drink or even to taste it; the monster is genuinely enjoying the bouquet without craving more.

Paul notices that I am breathing more deeply and growls in warning.

"I'm in complete control," I assure him, and he can see it from my steady hands as I wrap the fresh bandage around Bella's hand.

" _Smelling the bouquet_ ," Bella jokes.

I give her a smile, but I'm surprised she would say such a thing in front of the Quileutes; a couple of the wolves think it's funny, but the others are aghast that she is joking about my thirst for her blood.

"They already know how crazy I am," she explains, picking up on my surprise.

That makes Embry and Jared snort with laughter.

"Did you really know what he was before you started dating?" Embry asks.

Bella nods; I can't help but smile, remembering the pure joy in her face when I'd shown up that night in Port Angeles—knowing that she had known my awful secret in that moment made it all the sweeter.

"My vampire superhero," she teases. "At least it's easier for you this time."

I quirk a brow, unsure what she means.

"There's less blood."

I roll my eyes.

"You can't tell me that _doesn't_ make a difference."

"For _your_ blood," I murmur, "there's no difference."

She sighs. "That's only for you, though, isn't it?"

I shake my head.

"I suppose most vampires _have_ told me I smell delicious," she teases, shrugging it off. "Maybe that's why Victoria came after me and not you—if she tortures _you_ , that's all she gets. With _me_ , she gets torture _and_ dessert."

It's too painfully true not to be affected by the idea. Even Bella looks a little shaken.

"She won't get anywhere near you," I reiterate, struggling to keep my voice even.

Despite my efforts, the wolves hear the rage in my voice and it makes them tense. As much as I hate to go, it seems like a good time to give them a bit of space. When I remind Bella of the plan to relocate her truck, she looks as unhappy about it as I am.

"I'll be as quick as I can," I promise.

She sighs, but then nods without saying what's on her mind. There are so many things she could be thinking that I find it hard not to ask her. To distract myself, I kiss her forehead, and then walk her to the front door. The extensive damage to the house makes her cringe, and I wonder if she's worrying about the damage Jacob caused to himself or simply feeling guilty for her (indirect) part in triggering the destruction.

While Sam tells me which route to follow on my return to La Push (forgetting that I will have a car when I return as well—and there's only one road), I give Bella another kiss—this time on the lips—and then climb into the driver's seat of her truck.

"Keep your speed down," Bella reminds me, though she sounds torn, and this time, I'm confident I know what she's thinking—the slower I drive, the longer it'll take. I'm thinking the same thing. And yet, I know this old rustbucket will struggle to handle anything over sixty-five.

"I won't break it," I promise. "I'll stop at home on the way back to get the Volvo so I can pick up supplies to fix the door."

"Will they fit in the Volvo?" she asks uncertainly.

"I'll figure something out," I tease.

She rolls her eyes. "Of course."

When I start the engine, it's amusing how much less annoying I find its rough, grating rumble now compared to the last time I heard it. But thinking about the last time is too painful, so I focus on the positive association created today.

Bella seems to be struggling to do the same; her eyes are tight, and I ache for the pain I am still causing her.

"I'll be back in forty-eight minutes," I say, daring to give myself a deadline in the hope that it will help her deal with this temporary separation—while also hoping I can get back in 45 minutes or less.

She manages half a smile before I drive off. I keep her in sight through the truck's mirrors for as long as possible, and then I settle for watching her through the others' thoughts for as long as I can.

Her scent is so wonderfully clear that I can almost pretend she is still with me; I let the precious memories of our trips together fill my thoughts. It is a little sad to arrive at Bella's and have to leave the truck behind, though the quiet when I switch off the motor more than makes up for it.

It isn't until I am running home that I begin to dread seeing our house again after so many months. In some ways, it represents my family—the family I made homeless and then abandoned. (I should hunt now, while I'm outside the Quileute border, but the closest deer are north of my destination and even three miles feels like too great a departure from my route.)

The house is as empty as I expected. It's so quiet here, in and out of my head, but as peaceful as it is, I _hate_ it—not just because it reminds me of my absent family, but because my need to be with Bella overwhelms everything else. I had thought I couldn't possibly feel a greater attachment than I did already, but after seeing her again, I know I absolutely cannot exist without her.

I run inside, trying not to look around too much because it's sad to see everything packed away, and grab a change of clothes from my wardrobe. Someone—probably Esme—has thrown a couple of sheets over everything in my room to protect my things from dust. The thoughtfulness of this simple act hits me hard. The drive to get back to Bella as soon as possible is the only thing that keeps me moving.

The garage is emptier than I've ever seen it. The Volvo and Vanquish are in their usual spots, on almost opposite sides of the building, which only accentuates the unfilled spaces. I toss the sheet off the Volvo and throw myself into the driver's seat; it's a relief when the key is in the ignition—as eager as I am to leave, I might've been tempted to hotwire the car rather than go back inside to search for the key.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5: Ally**

Forks's town centre is exactly the same as I remember, which is deeply comforting. As eternal as our time apart had seemed, it wasn't really that long—even in human terms. There is hardly any traffic, and nowhere is far in Forks, so I arrive at the hardware store even faster than my most optimistic calculation.

Unfortunately, that good fortune ends the second I step out of the car. I hadn't given a moment's thought to how surprised people would be to see me—or how much hate they'd feel towards me.

The news of Bella's breakdown has travelled throughout town. Everyone who sees me—even people who've never spoken to Bella or me, let alone met either of us—has the exact same thought, condemning me for the hurt I've caused her. Bella being the Police Chief's daughter has a lot to do with it, but the severity of her response to my departure is what has reinforced and maintained their curiosity over the intervening months.

The manager of the store strongly considers refusing to serve me—until I explain the full extent of how much I want to buy. Then she makes sure to charge me at least a third more than it should cost. I am happy to comply because, from the moment she decides to overcharge, she goes as fast as she can—after dragging her heels in the beginning (being as rude as possible without actually giving bad service)—so I'll have less time to notice her creative addition.

To assist in wrapping up the sale as fast as possible, I accept almost all of her 'recommendations', including hiring the 'necessary' power tools for a week, and then load everything into an enclosed trailer that looks like a little garden shed on wheels. (At first, she stands back and watches me 'struggle' with a mix of self-satisfied enjoyment and the usual ogling, but she leaves me alone when another customer comes into the shop, so I give up as much of the human pretence as I dare.)

Thanks to the overall speed of the sale, I pull up outside Emily's after only 41 minutes. Bella runs right up to the car, so I cut the engine before I've even finished parking, leap from the seat, and sweep her into my arms. In the past, she would've complained (despite secretly enjoying it), but right now, she just laughs and throws her arms around my neck.

"You're early," she teases.

"The lady at the hardware store worked as fast as she could to hide how much she was overcharging me."

Bella laughs, but I regret being so truthful when Emily cringes at the amount she imagines I've forked out (which is actually _less_ than I paid because I decided to replace her old door with a larger door in a high-quality wood).

The pack stands around while I unload the trailer—but their plan to kick back and enjoy watching me toil (whilst getting a taste of what I can do) is quickly forgotten in their awe at my incredible packing skills.

When I pull out the wide door, their eyes practically pop out of their skulls.

Sam chuckles. "How long do you think it'll take you?" he asks, wondering when he should leave to find a deer for me.

"Less time than it'll take _you_ ," I tease.

He scoffs at that. _You're on!_ , he retorts, before turning and racing away into the trees, shedding his clothes as he goes.

I know it's likely I'll lose, but I can't help feeling the thrill of the competition; in any case, if I don't try at all, I'll look like a coward in the pack's eyes, so I pick up the pace.

Emily has kindly arranged for all the tools I'd need to be laid out ready for me, and she and Sam (much to Sam's exasperation) even made a start on the process of pulling out some of the damaged sections, so I have a slight head start on where I'd expected to be. She wants to offer to assist—or to tell the boys to help me—but that'll only slow me down.

"Sam's trying to bring back a deer before I finish this," I explain. "I need to be as quick as I can."

She smiles at that; she understands the pack's competitive spirit, and she knows Sam won't enjoy it unless he knows I gave it my best shot. She waves to Bella, and then they sit together on a bench they prepared earlier, positioning it to get the best view of the area needing repair (while still being far enough back that the pack won't be _too_ anxious when I start moving at normal speed).

I give them all a grin, then set to work. Emily is shocked, but she's less afraid than I expected—and the wolves are _more_ afraid. It is amusing just how panicked they feel watching me carry out the task of deconstructing what's left of the doorway.

In less than five minutes, I remove all the warped and fractured wood and begin the task of rebuilding the wall and doorframe. I work a little more slowly as I cut the wood to the correct length. The wolves laugh when I don't bother to measure anything before cutting each piece, but they quickly shut up when it becomes apparent that the new frame fits together perfectly.

I insert the insulation, affix the inner and outer boards, and then start laying the bricks. In twelve minutes, the cladding is in place; in another two, the frame is ready for the new door.

Now that I'm so close to finishing, I start to think I might actually beat Sam—and then I hear him charging back with _two_ deer, both slung over his back and held in place by a gentle hold on the top deer's head. He is trying hard to avoid breaking their skin, partly because it wastes my lunch, but mostly because he is hoping to avoid putting the scent of blood into the air before he gets to Emily. Just in case.

His concern makes his actions all the more remarkable. But I can't bring myself to throw the game. I grab the door and swing it into place.

After picking up the hinges, I glance at Bella. The look on her face makes me pause. _What is she thinking?_

She takes pity on my no doubt obvious curiosity, saying, "I can't wait for _my_ turn to be superman."

"You don't need to be a vampire to be stronger than me," I point out.

"You know that's not remotely true," she says sourly.

I don't understand why she's so irritated; does she think I don't mean it? "I mean it," I tell her, momentarily distracted from my task. "You did a much better job of trying to be normal. I couldn't even be around my family. I was… totally useless."

"You kept yourself fed," she points out.

I shake my head. "That was a necessity."

She realises I don't mean simple survival; she tenses, then sighs. "You tracked her to Seattle."

"Not quickly enough," I say, shuddering.

And then the wolves hear Sam. They grin and taunt me, knowing I'm going to run out of time, but Emily tells them to shut up—she is amazed by the job I've done, and extremely grateful.

While I screw the hinges in place and hang the door, I explain to Emily that I bought a selection of door handles so she can choose whichever one she prefers, but if she'd rather I put the old handle back, that's fine, too. She's curious about the new handles, so I retrieve them from the car and pass out the three options between her and Bella so they can examine them.

Before Emily makes up her mind, Sam arrives. He stops in the trees beside the house, out of sight, but close enough that Emily and Bella also hear the sound of the deer carcasses hitting the ground.

"I concede," I say, before Sam and the pack can start arguing that Sam beat me.

"You finished first," Emily declares, thinking that my task was much more complicated and therefore deserves a bonus.

"The door handle's still in your hand," Jared points out, defending his alpha.

"That's _my_ fault," Emily retorts.

"Thank you," I say, "but the inner wall still needs painting—"

"Which _Jared_ can do."

"I don't mind," I assure her. "But right now—" I find myself at a loss for words, so I gesture in Sam's direction.

They all understand my meaning—and appreciate me not saying it aloud, so I nod to Bella and the others and join Sam in the trees. He has positioned himself between the deer and the clearing, at an angle where he'll be able to keep an eye on me without having to watch me drink the animals' blood.

To make it easier on him, I move slowly—barely faster than human pace—as I kneel down beside the deer. Now that I'm close (and further from Sam's loud heartbeat), I can hear the faint thrumming of both hearts; despite his sympathy for the innocent creatures, Sam paralysed them instead of killing them outright, and did his best to keep them alive for me.

"Thank you," I murmur, before leaning forward to place my mouth over the carotid artery. Instead of ripping the flesh apart with my teeth, I use my fingers to make a careful tear through the skin and muscle, so all it takes is a quick nick with my teeth for the blood to flow. The bloodlust surges through my body, fighting my efforts to maintain control. But I fight back, forcing my muscles to obey _me_ , not the monster.

Sam appreciates my delicateness, although he has to keep telling himself that it's no different to him eating venison; he has killed and eaten wild animals many times since his first transformation, and my style of eating is actually less messy than his, but the thought of it still makes every fibre of his being vibrate with horror.

This heart is fading fast, so it takes longer than usual to draw out the blood. I give up before it is fully drained and start on the second deer before that one's heart loses what little strength it still has.

When I'm done, I check myself for stray blood spatter (just in case), then thank Sam again. "I appreciate your tolerance."

He nods back. _You've shown you deserve it_ , he replies; but he can't help picturing the massacred corpses Victoria has been leaving behind her.

That makes me flinch as I picture Bella in that state—

 _Sorry_ , Sam immediately responds, mistaking my mutual horror for a hunger of a different kind.

I flash him a smile to show I'm in total control. "It's not that," I promise him. He doesn't fully comprehend, so I say, "You protected Bella from that fate."

 _Glad to_ , he replies, understanding now.

The pack can hear my side of the story, but they are getting impatient, so I gesture for Sam to join the others.

 _You first_ , he says, thinking that he'll shift the deer carcasses further from the house.

"You could _eat_ them," I suggest, daring to tease him—but I'm surprised just how bad he feels about letting the meat go to waste. "You should be safe eating any part of it, but I'm certain I haven't contaminated the body."

 _I'll think about it_ , he allows, but we both know he won't wrap his head around eating a vampire's leftovers before these particular deer pass their prime.

I exit the trees slowly to make sure the pack knows I'm not a threat. Bella goes to say something, then purses her lips. I can't help but smile as I imagine what she might've been thinking this time—I always enjoy her teasing questions about how I enjoyed my 'meal'. She smiles back, and I'm in heaven.

If only the pack would stop thinking about how disgusted they are by the thought of me drinking blood and then kissing Bella.

"Have you decided which door handle?" I ask Emily—I know she hasn't, but it seems rude to remind her of the question more directly, and I want something that will take everyone's mind off the blood drinking.

Emily and the others take my question to mean that I hadn't kept track of everyone's thoughts while I was away, and I realise abruptly that, despite the distraction of fresh blood, I had easily followed their thoughts—without once thinking about drinking human blood. After that realisation, I'm glad I had tracking Victoria to make me refocus on my mind-reading, otherwise it wouldn't have been such an effortless act. And following the wolves' overlapping minds would've been a much greater challenge.

"Not yet, sorry," she replies.

"I wasn't trying to rush you," I assure her. "Take your time."

I glance at Jared, who has just gone from picturing various movie scenes where vampires become paralysed after drinking 'dead' blood to picturing _me_ drinking from a human body as cold and dead as I am. My attention encourages him to blurt out his thoughts. "Were they _dead_?"

"No," I reply; then, because they're all annoyingly curious about it, I reluctantly elaborate. "It wouldn't have hurt me if they were."

" _Really?_ " he says, feeling a tiny bit disappointed.

I sigh. "From what I've heard, it's highly unpleasant, but not harmful."

"Like eating _cold pumpkin soup_?" Embry asks, teasing Jared, who actually _likes_ cold pumpkin soup.

That makes everyone chuckle, but instead of distracting Jared from his morbid questions, it feeds them.

"When you killed people—"

"I never killed women or children," I interrupt. "Only men."

"There weren't any female murderers in the twenties?" Bella teases.

I smile at her, though I'm surprised she can be so casual about it. "I never met one in a back alley."

She chuckles, and again, I'm blown away by her ability to forgive me.

"How did you kill them?" Jared goes on, not letting go of his grisly question.

When I look around, they're all bizarrely eager to hear my answer. I sigh again, giving in. "I usually broke their necks."

"What did you do with the bodies?" Paul asks, getting caught up in his pack-brother's inquisitiveness.

"I slit their wrists and threw them into the river," I say as neutrally as possible. "The coroner ruled them suicides—well, the ones that came to the attention of police."

"How many—?"

"Does it matter?" I ask, interrupting Jared.

Bella squeezes my hand. "You saved more people than you killed," she reminds me.

"You really aren't afraid of killing someone?" Jared asks Bella, trying to imagine feeling the thirst for himself.

"Not one bit," she says, and I can see in her eyes that she believes it; it is acutely painful to see how determined she is. My efforts were doomed from the moment I selfishly inserted myself into her life. "If I thought I couldn't handle the thirst, it wouldn't be fear for _my_ soul stopping me," she goes on, gazing straight back into my eyes. "When you told me how I almost killed Mrs Cope—" I flinch, embarrassed by the reminder and surprised at the way she has assumed _my_ guilt— _I_ had been the one to almost kill Mrs Cope, the receptionist at our high school—and she breaks off. "I won't put anyone else in danger for my sake."

"Bella—"

" _No_ , Edward," she says sternly. "I know what it means, and I won't live without you ever again."

"You won't have to," I retort.

She snorts, but thankfully doesn't express any doubts she may still have about my vow to stay by her side for the rest of her life. Instead, she says, "I am _not_ getting old."

"It doesn't matter to me how old you are, or how old you _look_. I will always love you as vehemently as I do now."

She scoffs at that. "It matters to _me_."

"Why?"

"Because I want to be _beautiful_!"

"You _are_ —"

"I'm talking about _Rosalie's_ definition of beautiful," she snaps, cutting me off.

"Rosalie's definition is hardly the gold standard," I remark, trying to joke.

"I don't _care_ about the _gold standard_."

Her face puckers up, and I suddenly realise she is _very_ upset. Emily and the boys see it, too; while Emily tactfully disappears inside, Jared decides it's time to go looking for Sam and drags his pack-brothers away with him.

Now that we're alone, I take her hands in both of mine and press my lips to her knuckles. "I love you, and you are _not_ going to die today—please let's talk about something else."

She sighs, then nods. "Tell me what you did while you were away."

I look down at our hands, but I can't look away from her eyes for long. "There's not much more to tell," I say. "I tried to stay with my family, but I was only making them miserable, so I decided to track Victoria."

Her brows twist with bewilderment. "You've been tracking her the whole time you were gone?"

I struggle to find the words to answer her—it is hard to admit that I left her completely unprotected for months. "It wasn't the whole time," I confess, building up to it. "I wasn't tracking her because I thought she would come after you—I would never have left if I'd thought you were in danger. I _couldn't_ have left if I hadn't truly believed that _I_ was the greatest threat to your life."

She gives me a small smile. "I hope you've learned your lesson."

"I hope so, too," I reply, but she doesn't appreciate the joke. "I shouldn't have left, and I am truly sorry for the pain I put you through."

"I forgive you—as long as you never leave me again."

"I'll be here as long as you want me," I vow.

" _Forever_ ," she reminds me sternly.

Despite everything, I can't help but smile. "Then I'll be here forever," I promise, though it's an effort to keep the despair out of my voice.

If she notices anything amiss in my voice, she doesn't react to it—unless that's why she lets the conversation lapse. She leads me inside, where Emily has made a start on the painting. Bella says she'd like to paint, too, so I suggest assisting them at human speed, which makes them both laugh.

"You wouldn't be bored out of your mind?" Emily asks, thinking _she_ would be in my place.

"In other company, certainly," I reply; she laughs, knowing I mean Bella and amused that it's no joke.

So we spend half an hour painting the wall and door frame—Sam joins in when he returns—and then Jared, who has phased to keep an ear out for Jacob, hears what he's listening for. Jacob has phased back and is returning to La Push.

When Jacob hears that I'm still there, he tries not to think about what he's been doing—but he's not very good at it. His hatred of me helps focus his thoughts to some extent, but I still see that he took down a deer for lunch and then ran north all the way to Lake Ozette, where he phased and went for a swim, then told a group of kayakers that he'd lost his trunks in a surprisingly large wave, and one of the girls convinced her brother to give him a pair of shorts. After she'd got a bit too flirty, he'd walked into the nearest town and just wandered around—looking at girls.

He clamps down on the thought, trying to refocus on his hatred, but it's too late; Jared and I both hear that he has been thinking about imprinting—about how much easier it would make his life. The part of me that feels gratitude to him for helping Bella feels sorry for him and his pain, but the jealous part of me wishes he _would_ imprint. As difficult as he finds the thought of it now, and as conflicted as he still feels about it, it would absolutely solve his problems—and mine.

Jared changes the subject, telling Jacob the plan they have begun to devise. The other wolves want to phase so they can strategize together, and Jacob agrees, though he naturally disapproves of the idea that I will join in.

When I pass on the news that Jacob is on his way back, Sam says it's time to gather the pack and plan our strategy for tonight. Bella and Emily are both understandably anxious, but they nod; I'm relieved when Bella doesn't try to argue.

The wolves gather in the yard to phase, then begin comparing the various strategies they've tried on previous nights and debating how best to use _me_. I explain again that my mind-reading ability won't help us if Victoria gets away from us, and we discuss ways of concealing my presence for as long as possible. The best option seems to be Embry staying close to me, so that his scent will at least partially mask mine and I can whisper tactics to him without Victoria overhearing.

As Jacob reaches the main channel of the Quillayute River, he catches my scent. Though he has been exposed to my scent for the past hour through his pack's thoughts, it has done nothing to inure him to it. His hatred for me bursts out of him like a violent storm cloud—but I am not distracted enough to miss the opportunity.

"Jacob should follow my trail," I say. "If Victoria catches my scent before she gets here, she'll bolt."

Jacob growls angrily. He thinks I'm doing it deliberately, rubbing it in that I'm back and that Bella _raced_ into my arms—forgetting all the pain I put her through (and _will_ put her through). But it only takes a minute for Sam to talk him around.

To be as thorough as possible, Jacob doubles back, weaving back and forth a little, before he joins my path. He runs away from La Push for another few minutes, sussing out how strong my scent is to find the best starting point, before turning back after we all agree we can follow the rest of my trail back into the Olympic National Park tonight while we set up the trap.

The pack is pleased at how well Jacob's scent masks mine, and so am I; I'm confident it will be enough to keep Victoria from noticing I've joined the team. Since I hadn't caught her scent on my route, it seems safe to assume she has found her own path between Seattle and Forks; the wolves' knowledge of her movements suggests that she prefers to go further north.

Before Jacob gets all the way back, Sam decides it's time for us to join him (partly so we have time to spread out through the forest and partly to give Jacob more time to adjust to my presence). Emily and I swap phone numbers, then we say our goodbyes. The fear in Bella's eyes makes me want to take her in my arms and run to Phoenix—but the need to destroy Victoria keeps me on track.

To hide my scent as much as possible, I put on one of Sam's sweatshirts. Bella and Emily both manage a small chuckle at seeing me in a baggy 'hoody', and I'm glad of the small amusement, which helps make up for the intensity of being surrounded by Sam's pungent odour.

As we run, I give a greater portion of my focus to the wolves' thoughts. Their minds are more complex than ordinary human minds, and their memories are considerably clearer. I enjoy picking my way through the mix of past, present, and future thoughts of the individuals alongside what can only be described as the communal pack mind, which is wholly focused on the present.

It is even nicer when Jacob finally stops taunting me and focuses on the plan.

The wolves are the first mind-readers I've ever met, and their communal thinking appeals to me; I find myself getting swept up in it. I feel such a part of the wolf mind that I occasionally forget that they can't hear me, too.

Sam sees that I am thinking with them, supporting them instead of trying to take control, and he likes that I'm treating them as equals—it helps him trust me. And as unequal as they _are_ , in some aspects, I do feel a deep respect for their unique intelligence and way of life.

After following my trail to the National Park, we fan out to cover the entire western edge of the forest. Embry stays close to me, while the others take up their usual positions, checking old routes she's taken and searching for any fresh trails. They know the forest well, so I'm confident we can pinpoint her before she catches my scent.

I suggest a couple of places for an "ambush", in case she might be fooled into believing that is their play for tonight. Jared and Paul use the natural environment for cover—Jared, a large fallen tree; Paul, a small rocky overhang beside the river—while the others each choose a small clearing, making no effort to hide. And then we wait.

Fortunately for the wolves, whose patience is minimal, we don't have to wait long. Jacob hears her coming when she is over a mile away, five seconds after I get my first sense of her mind. We're pleased by the set-up we chose: she is running towards the upper middle of our line, near where Jared is hiding.

Paul and Sam shift further north, moving quietly to avoid detection for as long as possible, so that we are a much tighter line by the time she is in range of my telepathy. Hearing her thoughts fires a thousand emotions inside me, as it automatically sends my thoughts back to that ill-fated baseball game, to James's self-aggrandising hunt, to Bella's blood flooding everywhere, to the hospital and the horrid transfusions and painful treatments she had undergone—but I cage my temper for now and focus on picking her plan from her only partially guarded thoughts.

Because she expects the pack's defence, she only deviates from her course when the lead wolves make their usual charge, which makes it is easier than any of us expected to guide her towards Jared. Based on their previous encounters, she has become overly sure of their aggressive style of play—and overly sure of her ability to evade them.

Although she detects Jared's fresh scent, she doesn't realise how close he is until she picks out his heartbeat. I whisper to Embry so Jared knows to break cover now, and suddenly three wolves are heading her off.

The wolves are faster than I expected; I can't tell how much their communal thoughts help in their reaction time, but they are easily as fast as the average vampire. Under Sam's careful leadership, they had even defeated Laurent without suffering any major injuries.

Unfortunately, Victoria is _not_ an average vampire—and she has learned how to outmanoeuvre them. She isn't remotely concerned about the wolves' proximity because she intends to get even closer yet; although their range of responses to her various approaches has proved greater than she expected, she is secure in her superior skill.

It isn't until she catches _my_ scent that she feels any doubt, though she is so confident in her ability to evade us that she isn't frightened. Rather, seeing me with the wolves _confuses_ her: has it taken me a week to strike a bargain with them or have _I_ been playing _her_? But she is surprisingly good at refocusing her thoughts to give me as little information as possible. She employs two of Alice's favourite tricks—the obvious one of reciting something complex (times tables of fractions, in this case) and the less obvious one of critiquing (or in this case, ridiculing) me and my actions. If I weren't used to it from Alice, it would be very distracting to listen to her comment on my every move.

When she sees that I am not fazed by her thoughts, she deliberately switches tactics. Her every thought fixes on what she wants most: Bella in agony. It is hard to hear her picturing the thousands of tortures she has dreamt up since we killed James, but I focus on the real truth: she is trying to distract me because she knows she is outnumbered. What she doesn't realise—because she thinks my diet makes me weak—is that her thoughts only inspire me to fight harder, and they more than justify our pre-emptive retaliation.

"We _were_ playing you," I taunt her, trying to distract _her_. "We let you think you were winning. We let you think Alice couldn't see you."

Her thoughts waiver and she finally feels afraid. She begins to fear that she miscalculated the danger—that she _has_ got complacent. And while she debates whether to run or fight, we keep closing the circle.

"We've had you running in circles for a week."

She hates being mocked, especially when she put so much planning into her schemes, but she fears the 'final' death more. She tries to run, but I signal her intended direction and Paul and Jared bar the way, closing the circle. Using the next clue in her thoughts, I tell Jared to move and she has to break off the attack and swerve sharply. Paul almost gets close enough to sink his teeth into her leg, but she twists away and darts back into clear space.

"How long will you keep trying?" I ask. " _Failing_ ," I correct. "What made you think you could fool us?"

She attempts to ignore me, but as the wolves and I close in around her, her concentration falters. Suddenly, I can see deeper into her plans—I discover how she kept us in the dark. Thanks to Laurent's Irina-supplied explanation of Alice's gift, she managed to identify a potential blind spot: Alice only sees the consequences of our _decisions_ , so Victoria _thought_ about her plans but carefully avoided _choosing_ any of them, to hide her intent for as long as possible.

And then she slips further, and I see her boarding the plane to Rio. Alice had seen her on the plane, but she'd missed her getting off, because Victoria had told a flight attendant that she felt unwell and the _attendant_ had then made the decision to remove her from the plane. She had gone through the process deliberately to trick Alice. She was preparing to go to Forks, and she wanted us to relax, thinking she was on another continent, so that Alice might miss the series of small decisions she would make on her way to Forks.

She hadn't known it had worked until she'd arrived in Washington and there was no welcome party. The wolf pack had been an unexpected annoyance, but every day that passed had strengthened her belief that her tricks were working—it was either that or the wolves had chased us away, in which case she would eventually get to Forks and then she would track down Bella's new location. In any other situation, she might've been impatient, but she was still trying not to make big decisions, so she didn't mind spending a few days testing the wolves' line.

"We watched you play your pointless little games," I say, conscious that I'll slow the flow of memories, but wanting to reaffirm the lie that we've been a step ahead the whole time, "but we're tired of it now—tired of you."

She hates the idea that she has been duped so thoroughly—but instead of fuelling her rage, as I'd hoped, it fuels her desire to flee.

"There's no point running, Victoria," I say quickly, hoping to convince her of the futility of trying. "We will hunt you wherever you go."

She growls and tries to run anyway. I whisper to Embry her planned direction, and the wolves block her again. This time, she has to choose a target between Paul and Jared. Again, I warn Jared, but instead of simply avoiding her, Paul and Jared both counterattack. She shifts direction, throwing herself backwards—but the rest of us are already in place, boxing her in.

Now she has at least three wolves wherever she turns—and me.

"We got James," I remind her. "That was so _easy_ —" it is hard to say, given the suffering Bella had endured—but Victoria's reaction spares me from having to say anything more. She is _desperate_ for vengeance. James was her mate as irrevocably as Bella is mine.

"He didn't care about you," I say, mocking her. "You've gone to all this trouble to avenge him, yet you were just a tool to him."

She shrieks and lunges at me, finally losing control. I seize my chance. She is a clever fighter, but she has never fought someone with my unique advantage. After fending off half a dozen attempts to catch me out and gain the upper hand, I get her in the perfect position for the wolves to strike. She ducks under my arm and has to roll to avoid Sam's bite. Jacob and Jared snap at her and she has to launch herself into the air because there's nowhere else to go.

It is easy to predict where she'll land. I grab her leg and throw her into the ground. Sam slams his front paws into her back, knocking her further off balance. Before she can recover, I grab her head and twist; Jacob grabs her left leg, Paul her right, and Embry her left arm. We all pull together, and within seconds, Victoria is in pieces.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6: Comrade**

While we watch the body burn, I call Emily to let everyone know that Victoria is dead and none of us got hurt—if the wolves' excited howling didn't already clue them in (okay, it wasn't remotely loud enough for that). Victoria's body and clothes quickly crumble into a mound of glowing embers; these burn more slowly, but the fire steadily breaks down each piece, until only dust remains.

Sam shoves me lightly with his shoulder. _Come back with us to celebrate_ , he thinks.

I am moved by the offer, which three of the other four wolves are happy to support. Although Sam is thinking of Bella as well as me, his invitation represents a deliberate offer of friendship beyond the agreed collaboration.

"Thank you," I reply. "I'd like that."

So we race back to Emily's in a pack of five, because Jacob rejects my company in favour of his own. Despite his leave-taking (and his hostile thoughts), our spirits are high—we have destroyed the threat without injury—and the _minor_ unease they now feel at my presence makes my shared sense of their satisfaction all the greater. I maintain a pace that matches theirs, but otherwise I don't take care to move slowly or unobtrusively.

It takes us just under 20 minutes to get to Emily's. While the wolves reassemble themselves (putting on a few more clothes for Charlie's sake), I knock on the open door and then walk inside (leaving Sam's sweatshirt on the table in the entryway). However surprised they may be by my arrival, I need to see Bella.

But when I step into the lounge doorway, Emily smiles and Billy welcomes me in without the slightest ill will. I barely make it another step before Bella throws herself at me. Charlie is not so outraged at the sight of me that he isn't also startled by my presence in La Push, but Bella's desperation silences any questions he might've raised, as his anger returns to the fore.

Then Sam walks up behind me, grinning widely, and even though I lift Bella and step out of his way, he walks close enough to give me a friendly nudge with his elbow as he passes. Charlie is already bemused by this easy familiarity when Emily rushes Sam and throws her arms around him. Her matching desperation makes it obvious something out of the ordinary is going on, but Charlie, perhaps wisely, keeps his suspicions to himself.

And then the other three wolves pile inside, shoving each other and generally creating a ruckus, which takes some of the attention away from us couples. While Sam and Emily arrange themselves on a massive beanbag, I take the chair Bella had been using and Bella sits in my lap, without taking her eyes off me. No one acknowledges Charlie's gobsmacked expression.

There is one new face here—Seth, Harry Clearwater's young son—and he is staring at me curiously. He knows the tribe's legends and the elders' warnings about me and my family, and he has caught glimpses of the giant wolves that seem to give truth to the tribe's supernatural history, but it is all still too surreal for him, not quite believable. He's a smart kid, though, so he's starting to piece it all together, despite his parents wanting to protect him from the truth a little longer.

"Dessert's in the oven," Sue tells the rowdy boys, causing a veritable stampede.

"Bring us some," Sam calls after them, making the three boys argue over whose job it is.

Seth races after them, not wanting to miss out, and the others try to convince him it's _his_ job to serve his 'elders'. He scoffs at them, then whispers, "Sam's not the boss of _me_."

"Not _yet_ ," Paul retorts, and Seth stares at him, his thoughts a whirl of surprise, confusion, unease—and excitement.

The three of them know they'll be in trouble if Seth starts asking questions, so they glare at each other until Embry, the youngest pack member present, finally resigns himself to the task. While the others start filling their plates, he sticks his head round the doorframe.

"Anyone else want some?" he asks the adults. Sue and Harry nod, and Billy shakes his head, but Charlie doesn't seem to even hear the question; from what I can tell, his every thought is still fixed on me (if looks could kill, I'd be a smoking pile of ash). Then Embry looks at us. "Bella?"

She quirks a brow at me, so I give her a smile—it is something I know she will like. "Yes, please," she says to Embry.

Paul and Jared soon return with plates piled high with toffee apple crumble and ice cream, and Bella grins, looking forward to her share. Seth was happy to plate up his parents' helpings, so he comes out next, carrying three normal-sized portions.

Half a minute later, Embry brings out three plates as fully loaded as Paul's and Jared's. He gives Sam the first, along with two spoons, then passes the second one, with its _lone_ spoon, to Bella. "I'll have whatever you don't want," he says with a grin.

Bella grins back at him, her shock at the humungous portion evaporating. I wonder if she realises how unconsciously brave he is being—sharing food with the vampire girl. "Sure."

Though I am reasonably confident my venom won't be poisonous to Embry if he ingests a little of it in food, I decline when Bella teasingly waves the spoon at me. Embry realises the risk he faces and begins to doubt his cunning plan; his eyes rest on Bella's plate more than they do his own.

When she finishes as much as she wants and holds out the plate for him—of course, he has already finished his own portion—he hesitates.

"Don't tell us you're full," I joke, wondering if he'll recognise the reassurance I am attempting to offer.

He does, and I am touched when he immediately gets up to take the bowl from Bella and then starts shovelling the dessert into his mouth, smirking at his wide-eyed brothers. They are a little alarmed, but their nerves are based on the same concerns I have, not anything more extreme.

Billy, Sue, and Harry, on the other hand, are horrified, so I give them a quick nod to show that I understand the danger. Gratifyingly, that is enough to reassure Billy that I am not taking a risk with Embry's life, and he waves a hand to silence Sue and Harry before either one makes a scene.

The sugar high keeps the wolves buzzing after the adrenaline starts to wear off, and Jared and Embry can't resist boasting about their part of the "hunting" trip—in as much detail as possible with Charlie (and Seth) in the room, though they're fortunate that Charlie is so furious with me, otherwise he might've wondered _what_ they'd been hunting (Seth suspects correctly, though, and it makes him even more curious about me).

"Cullen kept up pretty well," Jared taunts.

"I'll take _you_ hunting next time," I tease, and the wolves all laugh.

"You're on!"

"When's bear season start?" Bella pipes up.

We all laugh at that, except Charlie, who is understandably shocked by his pacifist daughter apparently condoning the slaughter of innocent creatures for sport.

Embry's thoughts distract me a little. "You've killed a bear?" he asks, his voice slightly awed, even as he remembers coming face to face with an angry bear when he was barely seven years old; despite his wolf self being more than a match for any bear, they still fill him with dread. Next time we can speak freely, I will tell him of Emmett's history.

In the meantime, I say, "Emmett's dragged me out once or twice." _Once or twice a year_. "He likes the challenge."

" _You_ don't?" Paul asks.

I shrug. "They're big and fierce, but they're still not much of a match for our weapons. Deer might be small and defenceless, but they're fast—catching them is at least more interesting."

"You hunt deer?" Charlie asks, again surprised that Bella isn't disgusted by my choice of sport.

"Carlisle and Esme like venison," I say, not stretching the truth too far. "We don't kill for sport."

"You eat _bear_ , too?" he retorts.

I give him my best smile, wishing I could tell him something that doesn't make me sound like a jerk. But I can't, so I try a joke instead. "Emmett certainly tries."

The wolves and Bella laugh, and Billy actually cracks a smile; unfortunately, Charlie frowns and I feel a swell of disgust alongside his anger. He sighs heavily, then clears his throat. "It's getting late—Bella and I had best be heading home."

Harry nods, and Billy says, "Sure. Always good to see you, Charlie."

Charlie nods back, though he looks like he wants to say something else (probably to demand why they are so comfortable hosting a Cullen—let alone the guy who broke his daughter's heart—after the falling out they had over the tribe's distrust of Carlisle), but he manages a smile for Emily. He hesitates a moment longer, then fixes his gaze on Bella. "C'mon, Bells."

Bella takes a deep breath and for a moment, I wonder if she's going to say she wants to come home with _me_ , but then she simply nods. "See you tomorrow," she says to me, squeezing my hand meaningfully.

I nod and give her a quick kiss; Charlie's fury feels like a hurricane of loathing. Bella, not oblivious to her father's outrage, stands up, pulling me up with her, and says goodnight to Billy, Emily, the Clearwaters, and the pack, before finally letting go of my hand and allowing Charlie to herd her outside.

I wait until the cruiser has pulled away before I say my goodbyes and thank Emily and the others for their hospitality.

"Thank you, Edward," Billy replies respectfully. Then, at Sam's non-verbal encouragement, he adds, "You are welcome here anytime."

His thoughts make it clear he is extending his tribe's hospitality towards me permanently; the Clearwaters don't exactly share Billy's confidence in me, but neither disagrees. "Thank you," I reply, humbled by the honour. "I am truly honoured."

He smiles at me, pleased that I appreciate the gift he is giving me. Then he says, " _Just_ you—we respect your family, but one… Cullen," he says, catching himself before he used the word _vampire_ in front of Seth, "is more than enough."

"I understand," I assure him, "and they will, too."

Sam holds out his hand, and I shake it, enjoying the friendly gesture. "We appreciate the help you gave us tonight," he says.

"Likewise," I reply.

He lets go, and I can't help rubbing my hand on my thigh to help dissipate some of the heat his hand transferred into mine; he chuckles. _Too hot for you?_ , he teases. Then he says, "We'll definitely take you up on that hunting trip."

I smile, but he is planning a trip much sooner than I am. "You might have to wait a month or so, until I'm… more okay with leaving Bella for a few hours."

"How often do you hunt?" he asks curiously; he'd assumed at least weekly.

"Usually every two weeks," I reply, aware that Seth is hanging off our every word, "but I doubt you want to go at three a.m.…"

The wolves all scoff at that, in immediate consensus about the ridiculous hour.

"Aren't deer asleep then?" Jared asks.

 _Boring_ , Paul thinks.

I shrug. "Makes it faster, and I'd rather not go while Bella's awake."

With the exception of Seth, who is picturing me drinking the blood of a deer in various ways (including wondering if I have fangs), they all think about the six months I have just spent away from her and try to reconcile the two impulses—to want to be with her and yet be so against making her like me. Their thoughts are curiously similar to Emmett's, although, unlike Emmett, they understand my reasons for not wanting to change her. Sam's understanding turns to sympathy, reminding me that he has his own sad history. Even when Emily had been angry with him for hurting Leah, he hadn't been able to stay away from her; he had kept his distance, but he had still followed her everywhere, like an abandoned puppy.

Then Embry wonders whether I ever spend the night at Bella's, so I decide it's best to call it a night before they start asking awkward and embarrassing questions. Although I know Bella won't be home yet, I speed home in the Volvo, then sprint to her house; I want to be there when she gets home, as if that will make up for Charlie's bad mood. I'm worried she is receiving the tongue lashing he was dying to give _me_ , but there's nothing I can do about that.

When the car pulls up, they aren't talking. Bella climbs out without thanking him and then shuts the door a fraction too hard; although, used to her truck's heavy doors, she often does that without thinking. It is her silence as she marches up to the house and goes straight upstairs that really suggests they argued. The final confirmation is the scowl on her face when she enters her bedroom.

She starts when she sees me sitting on her bed, but then her whole face lights up and she throws herself at me. I catch her carefully and wrap her in my arms.

"Edward," she murmurs happily.

"I hope you weren't arguing the whole way home," I reply.

" _I_ wasn't arguing at all," she retorts.

I sigh. "Please don't be angry with him—I earned every bit of his hate."

She leans back and takes my face in her hands. "You're here now, and you'll never leave me again," she says, as though she _still_ needs me to confirm it, "so he'll just have to get used to it."

"I will never leave you again," I repeat, reaffirming my promise. "But I don't want to cause trouble between you and your father. He loves you _so much_."

"I know," she acknowledges. Then she smiles. "Let _me_ worry about Charlie. You just focus on _my_ happiness."

"Always, love."

She gives me a pat on the cheek, then excuses herself to take a shower. I can hear that she doesn't wash her hair, so she isn't under the water for long, and then, once she has towelled herself dry, she brushes her teeth. I enjoy the familiar routine; it makes me feel like all is right with the world. Even if we are veering towards the alternate ending I've worked so hard to avoid—the one in which the heroine sacrifices her life for love.

She walks back into the room, wearing a pale pink t-shirt and brown shorts I haven't seen before, smelling of orange blossom soap, peppermint toothpaste, and her own unique, invigorating, floral scent. I lift up the covers and she slides in beneath them and stretches out against me.

Her hand is still bleeding a little, so I retrieve the bandage from the bathroom. There's more blood on it than I'd expected, so the clean segment isn't large enough to bind the wound.

Bella sees my hesitancy and grins. "Isn't this where you tear a strip off your shirt?" she teases.

I chuckle. "That's hardly sterile—and the… oils," I say, for want of a better description, "on my skin might irritate the wound."

"Oils?"

I shrug. "It's not venom, but it's probably an irritant."

She ponders that for a minute, then deliberately presses her hand against my shirt, near my heart. "Feels fine."

I roll my eyes. "Bella, my shirt is dirty."

"Take it off then."

I know I really shouldn't, but I obey. Her heartbeats quicken as I unbutton the shirt, moving only a little faster than human speed. I undo the cuffs and then slide my arms out of the sleeves. She stares at my naked chest for a long moment, before reaching up to stroke her fingers across my skin. She has touched me like this before, but the time apart makes it feel so much more intense. The heat of her skin and the thrill of her touch feel like electric sparks dancing across my chest.

I hold myself still, fighting the urge to rip the flimsy t-shirt off her body. In contrast, the urge to lick her bloody palm is barely noticeable. She rests her palm on my abs for a moment, leaving behind a faint smear of blood.

"Your skin doesn't hurt," she says, implying she had deliberately pressed her wound against me. "It feels nice."

I take her hand carefully in mine and examine the wound. It doesn't look any redder than it did a few minutes ago, and it might even be bleeding a little less. "Let's leave it open, then—I'll make sure it doesn't catch on the blankets while you're sleeping."

She smiles. "You'll stay here _all_ night?"

"I need to change my clothes," I point out; "you got blood on my shirt."

She chuckles. "Oh no—people might think you're a vampire."

I join in with her quiet laughter. "I'm serious."

"So am I."

I stroke her cheek. "Okay. I'll take you home with me in the morning, and change then."

"I'll drive," she says happily, obviously planning to stay a while.

I pretend to think it over. "How about _I_ drive your truck?" I suggest.

She screws up her nose. "I've got a sore hand, I'm not an invalid." Then she grins. "You _can't_ drive—what if someone sees you?"

"How late do you plan on sleeping in?" I tease.

She glances at the clock on her bedside drawers, which reads 11:28. " _I'm_ driving," she insists.

"All right," I relent; but when I lean over to turn off the light, she catches my arm.

"I want to see you."

"I'm not going anywhere. Go to sleep now, love."

But any chance of her settling down to sleep vanishes when she catches sight of the scar further up my arm. "What's _that_?" she demands, her voice indignant even at a whisper. "Tell me _exactly_ what happened!"

I sigh. "You already know everything that happened—Jacob bit into my arm, but then Sam stopped him before I had to defend myself."

She strokes her fingers along the line. "It looks different," she says, not letting it go. "There aren't any tooth marks—" she breaks off. "It goes all the way around…"

"He tore off my arm," I admit. "But as you can see, I reattached it and it's completely fine."

She sighs. "Are the scars permanent?"

I nod; they will serve as a token reminder for the pain I put her through.

"Will I still have James's scar?"

"No," I say, glad it will be so. "The transformation removes all imperfections."

She smiles, but not smugly, so it is another moment before I realise I have answered her as though the debate about her future is over. I don't know what to say—maybe she hasn't noticed it consciously—so I follow a related train of thought.

I gently shift her hair to expose the light scar on her forehead. "Seven stitches," I murmur, imagining the pain and humiliation she would have felt, and feeling intensely guilty that I hadn't been there to protect her. Then I wonder if she told Charlie what she'd been doing; his dislike of motorcycles is no secret.

"It was fun," she insists, her tone defensive—but there is some other emotion lurking there in her voice.

Hoping to tease out her true feelings on the matter, I quirk a brow. "Worth a trip to the hospital?"

Her cheeks flush. "You had _your_ distractions; I had _mine_."

I can't help but frown at that; Victoria was my distraction, and Jacob hers. The two are likely as opposite in our affections as they are in appearance.

"I know I broke my promise," she murmurs, stroking my forehead, "but I'm not sorry. You made me a promise you could never honour."

"I did _try_ ," I reply, though I know it is a pathetic excuse.

"Maybe, but it was _never_ as if you'd never existed—and the times it did feel like that—like I'd dreamed you—were so much worse than all the rest. Like I was losing my mind."

I pull her uninjured hand up to my lips and kiss her knuckles. "I am truly sorry, Bella. I told myself that your pain would be so much less than mine, but I was wrong, and I almost killed us both. If it had not been your life—your _soul_ —in jeopardy, I couldn't have made myself leave you."

"You almost died?" she murmurs.

I stroke her cheek. "Do you remember what I said about Romeo having it easy?"

Her brows furrow slightly as she realises I'm referring to killing _myself_. "Do _you_ remember what _I_ said about not being allowed to hurt yourself?"

The memory of that conversation, appropriately, feels like poison in my veins. "I said I'd never put you in danger again, and then I did exactly that— _mistake after mistake_ ," I mutter bitterly, remembering my criticism of Romeo, though he hadn't made any mistake to compare with my monumental idiocy. "If not for _Jacob_ , you'd be dead."

She doesn't answer, just presses a soft kiss to my lips. We lapse into silence. I want to raise the subject of the radio, but I can't bring myself to start another painful conversation, so I let myself have a moment to enjoy being with the girl I love and forget my failures.

A minute passes before she takes a deeper breath, signalling she is about to speak, then she blurts out, "I want my CD back. And my photos."

When I don't answer immediately, her brows pull down. "You didn't throw them away, did you?"

"I never took them out of the house," I confess—she is right; of course she is. "You were right," I say. "I made you a promise that was meaningless. I hurt you deliberately, thinking I could protect you from my world, but it was already too late."

She nods. "I am yours, too."

As selfish as I am, I can't help but smile at that; then I realise I am being unfair on another point as well. Perhaps confessing to it will help me resolve it—and help me gain some insight into her thinking. "I tried to force you to give up on me, so it's wrong of me to be upset that I almost got my wish—"

"What are you talking about?" she interrupts, frowning.

"Jacob," I murmur, half unwillingly.

"What _about_ Jacob?"

"His feelings for you… and yours for him."

"He's my _friend_."

I wish that that is all he is to her, but I know there is a deeper attachment between them. "He showed me his memories," I murmur.

She cringes. "I'm sorry."

I take her precious head in my hands. "You have nothing to apologise for. I tried to force you to build another life without me, because I thought I knew what's best for you—but I don't."

"So you concede that _I_ do?"

"Not exactly," I reply, still clinging to the last argument I have left. "I don't agree that changing you is remotely what's best for you."

"Well, then," she huffs, " _Alice_ will change me."

I frown, and so does she. "Sounds like you have it all figured out," I say, trying not to sound bitter as I shift my hands back to the bed.

She sighs, then shakes her head. "That's the _least_ of my problems."

"What's the _first_?" I ask, trying to understand her logic.

"You," she answers without the slightest hesitation.

"I deserve that," I mumble, shot through with guilt. "I don't _want_ to be a problem."

"Then don't be. Accept the inevitable."

"I can't," I say, hating myself for putting her in the position of wanting the life of a vampire; hating myself for denying her what she wants. "I won't doom you to this cursed existence."

"You're not cursed," she replies dismissively. Then, deliberately, she says, "Carlisle changed Esme."

I quirk a brow, momentarily confused by the forthright statement, before I realise what she's getting at. "You. Want. _Me._ To—" I break off, shaking my head.

"Yes," she says firmly, not the least bit sympathetic to my distress. "I want _you_ to change me—to choose me."

"I can't accept that changing you is the right choice."

"It's the _only_ choice. I _love_ you. You love me. But in order to progress our relationship—"

"Progress it by ending your life?"

"It's not an ending, it's a _beginning_. I am ready to start my life with you."

"Ready to say goodbye to your human life?" I press. "To your _parents_?"

She sighs. "Yes."

"I hate that you would have to give them up. I don't want to take anything away from you."

" _You_ are all that I want—all I will _ever_ want." She rises up to kiss me, and of course I respond.

She is convincing me—the selfish part of me already agreed with her, but now the part of me that I have so carefully protected, the part that tries to always do the right thing, is starting to see her argument. I see us together, our skin the same temperature, the same hue. We are a couple and we don't just complement each other's looks, we match in every way.

I want that, too. But to damn Bella's soul in the process?

I make one last attempt to argue with myself—mistakes are easier to make when the damage is invisible—and then the objections fail, and there is only cowardice left. Can I really take on the responsibility of changing her? Carlisle's burden is something I have never wanted to bear. If she grew to resent my action the way Rosalie does…

And then, out of the blue, I think of the one thing that would tempt me. Bella and I have never discussed it—I've never found the right time to raise the topic—but I suspect her reaction won't be the typical one. I try to consider it objectively, to predict her opinion, but I want it too much. And if it will delay her for even half a year, it would be worth taking on the burden of changing her myself.

"If you're so fixed on eternal damnation," I blurt, "there might be _one_ thing that will persuade me to change you myself."

"What?"

"Marry me."

Her mouth falls open.

"Marry me, and I promise _I_ will change you."

Her shock morphs into frustration. "You're being unreasonable."

If we weren't discussing her death, I would laugh. "You're asking me to _kill_ you—to end your human life. All _I'm_ asking for is what people who love each other do." (I would also mention my enduring hope to safeguard her soul, but it would only raise the unresolved argument about my soul.)

"Marriage isn't about _love_ ," she grumbles.

"It is for me. You're already giving up so much for me; this is one thing I _can_ still give you."

"I thought you realised you were wrong about dragging me to prom."

"You're comparing _our_ _wedding_ to _prom_?" In my head, I hear myself saying _our wedding_ and I want it so badly.

She doesn't answer for a moment; I go further on the offensive.

"You _say_ you want to be with me forever, but—"

"Marriage _isn't_ forever."

"Divorce didn't exist—"

"In _modern_ society, marrying at eighteen just means you're pregnant."

I cringe. "I wish I _could_ —"

She laughs in whispers. "You _want_ me to be pregnant?"

"I just wish I weren't taking that possibility away from you."

"Who says I _want_ kids?"

"Maybe not now, but in a hundred years—"

"I will never want anything more than I want you."

I sigh. "You're too stubborn for your own good."

"No, _you_ are. Give in. Change me."

"Wouldn't you like to give your parents a bit of closure?" I ask, trying a different approach.

She frowns. " _They_ married young—look what it did to them."

Ah, so she blames _marriage_ for her parents' failed relationship? Now I understand her objections a little better.

"If you weren't so determined to die young, we could wait a few years."

She frowns. "Stop referring to it as _death_. _You_ know that's not true."

I sigh. "You'll be frozen forever, just as you are. Is that what you really want?"

"Not _exactly_ like this."

I ignore her—I know she's referring to the physical transformation that accompanies the change—though I weave an answer into what I was going to say. "You'd think _Rosalie_ would be the happiest of us all, but she hates this endless, petrified existence. She would rather have died."

Bella looks surprised. "Even though she has Emmett now?"

I nod.

She thinks about it for a moment, then shakes her head. "I _know_ I won't feel that way. I'll be as happy as Emmett."

I cringe, because I can't believe that she is right—even though she can't have any idea how truly happy Emmett is. "He didn't lose anything when he died."

"Neither will _I_."

"Your parents. Your friends." _Jacob_.

She winces briefly, but her resolve is unwavering.

Selfishly, thinking about Jacob makes me want to reassert my claim on her. "Marry me, and I'll change you as soon after as you like. You can spend the honeymoon writhing in agony if that's what you want."

She frowns at my deliberately negative portrayal, and I regret using my first mention of our honeymoon to illustrate a point that neither of us wants to think about.

"Let your parents picture the life they want for you—even if it's not the one you're choosing."

"I'm choosing something _better_."

Again, I vary my approach. "In a hundred years' time, I don't want you to look back and wish you'd married me before you had to leave your human life behind."

"I won't," she insists, but there is an ounce of doubt in her tone now, where before there was absolute certainty.

"Rosalie has married Emmett seven times already, but _none_ of them makes up for the human marriage she didn't get to have."

She sighs; then she blurts out, "Does Emmett know how she feels?"

"Yes."

She shakes her head slowly, her expression full of sympathy. "Lucky he's not the type to dwell on emotional stuff."

I can't help but laugh, though it is a sad laugh. "Yes, it is lucky." We stare at each other. Without having to read her mind, I know she is thinking about how _I_ would cope in Emmett's place—and she seems fully aware that it would cripple me.

"I'm _not_ Rosalie," she says eventually. "I choose _you_."

" _Now_."

" _Always_."

"Then marry me," I can't help but beg—even though now it means that I am begging her to let me end her life.

She laughs, perhaps amused that I've brought our discussion back to _our_ marriage. "Not tonight," she teases.

I flinch, ruining her lighthearted mood.

"I thought you _wanted_ to marry me," she observes dryly.

"I do," I agree.

She drops her gaze to the bed, abruptly sad. "But _you're_ giving up things, too," she says miserably.

I don't understand. "I'm getting the most out of this by far," I say, only then realising how true that is. I am giving up _nothing_ , while she gives up _everything_. And now, after agreeing to something that we _both_ want, I am demanding that she marry me first. _Am_ I being stubborn again? Forcing her to do something just because _I_ think it's right? _Is_ it like prom all over again? No, I decide. My worries for her soul are valid—except I can't ignore the fact that Bella doesn't share my stricter, "old fashioned" beliefs, and I don't want to force them on her. The last time I tried that—when I left her—had been a total disaster. This time, I will build my case more reasonably, without losing sight of Bella's own beliefs.

"I won't be the same," she murmurs. "I won't be warm, or—"

"Bella," I interrupt, raising her chin and pressing our lips together. "The only thing that will be different is that you will be a lot less breakable."

She stares into my eyes, testing my resolve. "You won't miss the colour of my eyes, or the way I smell?"

I laugh softly. "No, I won't miss _that_."

"My eyes, then? My warmth?"

"You will still be you," I say—and then I realise I'm giving her plenty of ammunition. "You might rethink how you see _me_ , though," I add, expressing my deepest fear before I've really thought it through. I don't mean her to worry. Or to have such thoughts in her head while she is writhing in agony. My body tenses up, but I hope she doesn't notice.

She strokes my cheek. "I will only see you more clearly," she murmurs.

I give a wry chuckle. "That's what I'm afraid of."

She rolls her eyes. "You are the best man in the whole world."

"Carlisle—"

"Carlisle would say the same thing."

I shake my head—not because she isn't absolutely correct, but because I disagree with both of them. "He doesn't understand how selfish I am. He is a far better man than I." Oh, how I wish that were not true. If I were as good as Carlisle, I would have stayed away from Forks until Bella had grown up and moved away. And yet, would that really have been better for her? I want to believe she will be happier with me than with anyone else, but now that that _someone else_ has a name and a face and loves her passionately, it is harder for me to argue in my favour, knowing she wouldn't have to give up anything to be with _him_.

"If _you're_ selfish, so am _I_ ," Bella says. When I shake my head again, she takes my chin in her hand. "I want you, and I want _your_ life. I want your family. And it's selfish, because I won't ever be able to see my parents again—but that doesn't change anything."

I sigh. Her selfishness is so much less than mine, but I appreciate the effort—and I am selfishly glad that she thinks I am better than I am. "Please," I beg, "just think about it a little longer—let's _go_ to college in the fall. What's another year?"

"I want to start my life with you right now."

"You _can_ ," I plead, clutching at straws now. "We can live together while you're still human. You might even find you _like_ college—why not give it a try before you have to wait a decade or two until you can resist eating your classmates?"

She sighs. "And _then_ you'll change me?"

I take a deep breath. "No terms," I say. "I won't force you to do anything. I'm just asking you to _think_ about an alternative—about the choices you still have, before you give them all up."

Her eyes widen. "So you'll change me?"

I close my eyes. "Yes," I vow.

Her reaction, of course, is the opposite of what it should be. She throws her arms around me with a hushed cry of joy.

"Will you at least _consider_ postponing?" I ask, doing my best not to beg.

She sits back so she can look into my eyes. "I'm not going to change my mind," she warns. "I will still want you to change me one day."

"I know," I acknowledge, though I can't deny that the little part of me that strives to do what is best for her still hopes she will find a better path. "I'm just hoping to delay that day for a little longer—so you can have a few more human experiences."

She gives me a hesitant smile. "I suppose _one_ more year won't matter…"

My face must show how much that little concession would mean to me, for her smile widens, and this time, it reaches her eyes.

"I love you," I say. "I want you to have _everything_ you want. And I accept that you want—"

"To be with you forever," she supplies helpfully.

"To be with me forever," I repeat, grateful to avoid the _v_ word. "I'm just afraid that one day, you'll realise you _do_ want at least some of the things you missed out on. I can't bear the thought of causing you any regrets."

"As long as I'm with you, I won't regret a thing."

"Forever is a long time."

"And we'll be happy as long as we're together."

I smile at that, letting her conviction give me hope—whatever else happens, I can believe that that will always be true. "Yes," I agree, "we will." I feel abruptly foolish for prolonging the agony for us both. "You're right," I say, accepting her superior wisdom.

She chuckles at that, but her satisfaction doesn't completely mask the drowsiness.

"Lights out," I murmur.

"I don't want to go to sleep," she complains; but this time, she doesn't stop me when I reach over to switch off the lamp.

I smile into the darkness that isn't dark to my eyes. "Sleep, Bella," I murmur, stroking her cheeks and forehead to encourage her to relax. "I will be here when you wake. I will _always_ be here."

She snuggles against me, shifting her pillow so her head rests against my side. I take her hand in mine, so she can relax without resting the wound on anything, and she hums contentedly.

A few seconds pass in silence, then she murmurs, " _You_ didn't want anything else."

"I'm not a good example," I reply. "I didn't even know I wanted _you_ until you came into my life."

"Boys are clueless," she teases. After half a minute, she adds, "You wanted to go to _war_."

"True," I breathe, speaking softly, hoping to help her brain switch into sleep mode.

She doesn't say anything else; watching her fall asleep gives me an even stronger feeling that no time has passed. Except, when she falls asleep and I am left to my thoughts, I realise that it feels like almost the exact _opposite_ of the last night I'd watched Bella sleep. That night, I'd been steeling myself to leave her. Tonight, I am steeling myself to _stay_ —now that I have agreed to change her whenever she chooses, I somehow have to prepare myself for the moment she will ask me to end her human life in the most agonising way possible.

I find myself counting her heartbeats, wondering how many more I will get. Will she wait the full year, or will she change her mind? Can I dare to hope for _more_ than a year? But knowing how unhappy she is about surpassing my physical age makes her changing her mind seem much more likely.

My only comfort now is the image from Alice's vision: a red-eyed Bella and Alice with their arms around each other, both smiling.

I lie there for a long time, trying to convince myself that it is not a failure.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7: Kin**

" _Jacob_ ," Bella murmurs suddenly, pleadingly. "No, Jake, don't go."

I freeze. The fury that overwhelms me makes it impossible to think. The only thing I know is that I can't move lest I hurt her.

"Edward," she murmurs, and her voice calls me back to reason. I don't know how long it has been since she spoke _his_ name, but the joyful tone in which she utters mine, so distinctly different from her previous mournful entreaty, helps me work through the devastating jealousy.

And then I have to face the truth all over again. I drove her into his arms. It is my fault that she had to rely on him for more than protection from Victoria. But how much more than friendship is it for her? Despite her disavowal of deeper feelings, does she actually _love_ him?

"Now you know how much I love you," she murmurs, as though rejecting my concerns about her feelings for Jacob. "I can't exist without you."

"I'm yours, too, my love," I reply. My voice is strained; I hope that detail doesn't worm its way into her subconscious and affect her dreams.

And then I take a deep breath and wade into the raft of memories I witnessed today, piecing together the months of Bella's life that I've missed.

As bad as Sam's memory of Bella's catatonic state is, the worst is one of Jacob's—of Bella begging him not to break up with her, offering him a proper relationship and a chance that she might one day change, because she can't bear to lose him, too.

The pain in her eyes, in her voice—it was nothing to the pain I had caused her, but it was also different. When I left, she withdrew into herself; when he turned his back on her, she was deeply hurt, but she was angry, too. Was it because her 'distraction' had been taken away? Was that the only reason she was prepared to offer herself to him? But I can't think like that. It is less of a torment to believe she might love him too than to think she might only have entered into a relationship with him to escape the constant pain of my betrayal. (Would Juliet have risked death if Paris had not been a stranger but a beloved friend?)

I have seen the others' memories of her pain, but I wonder if I will ever comprehend how deeply I hurt her. After all, she has proven time and again that her thoughts are not what I expect. I don't deserve such a warm welcome—and then I remember her doubt and my unfair reaction to it. I absolutely earned her distrust. It was wrong of me to blame _her_ for believing my lies and distrusting the truth.

Evidently, I am an even baser creature than I think I am. I have deceived myself even as I act the part of a noble man and mislead everyone else. But Bella isn't the only one who thinks I am better than I am. Carlisle, whose judgement I rely on in every other matter, is equally convinced.

So it seems there is only one thing I can do: learn to _be_ better—to live up to their high opinion of me. There is no alternative; as long as Bella is certain of her course, as long as she wants me, I must be the best I can be. And I can't let my well-deserved self-loathing or my self-inflicted jealousy cripple me—my negativity only adds to Bella's burden.

"I love you, Bella," I whisper to her, over and over, until my voice sounds normal again, and then I keep saying it, willing it to be enough.

When she awakes, it is hard not to ask about her dreams, and I wonder if she notices that I don't ask how she slept. But she seems so rapt that I'm still here that I'm inclined to think she is too preoccupied to notice (despite her usual astuteness).

Her joy pleases me as much as it tears at my conscience. I wounded her so deeply, yet she has welcomed me back into her life without reproof. My one consolation is that she understands the reason I left, and I hope that she forgives my failures because she understands the worth of her soul, not simply because she has no other choice—because she loves me too much not to forgive me. Because that is the only reason I think I will be able to forgive myself (because I love _her_ too much not to).

She waits until Charlie leaves the house before going downstairs to get breakfast, so I don't bother putting my shirt back on. I scrounge through the cupboards, eager to serve her, and for once, she lets me without complaint.

"The kitchen looks neglected," I remark, though I'm not sure I want to hear the explanation.

"Charlie and I have been eating in La Push most nights," she replies, confirming my apprehension.

She looks guilty, so I stroke her face with my hand. "As dangerous as the wolves are—" I ignore the eye roll she gives me; I know she doesn't think they're dangerous—"I'm glad you had somewhere to go."

She nods, but her thoughts are elsewhere. I hate that she could be thinking about Jacob right now. I manage to hold my hand steady as I pour milk into a bowl of cereal, but I tilt the cartoon a little too much and milk splashes out of the bowl.

Bella laughs at my uncharacteristic clumsiness and jumps up to grab a cloth—but I get there first. "Sit," I insist, turning her gently back to face the table.

While she returns to her seat, I get a spoon from the drawer, then place the bowl and spoon in front of her. I put away the milk and wipe up the mess before she even picks up the spoon.

She grins at me, and then starts to eat. I watch her closely; I have missed everything she does, even this, which seems as bizarre to me now as it did the first time I watched her eat cereal. I almost expect her to comment on my rapt attention, but she doesn't. She watches me in return.

When she is finished, I check that she's had enough, then take the bowl before she can get up. I wash and dry it and place it back in the cupboard, completing the task in a comfortable eight seconds.

"Very good," she teases, praising me, so I bow and ask her for my next task.

She considers for a moment, then holds out her arms. "Carry me upstairs, please."

I obey at once, indulging myself by kissing her as I walk. Once upon a time, she would have insisted I watch my step, but she doesn't say a thing; in fact, her passionate response almost catches me off guard.

After transporting her safely to her room, I sit cross-legged on the floor, eyes closed, while she changes out of her sleepwear.

When I open my eyes, she is wearing a white blouse and a sky-blue skirt. "Beautiful," I murmur.

She gives me a little smile and her cheeks flush with colour; then she pulls on her shoes and retrieves her car key from the desktop, where I left it yesterday.

"Do you think they'll be home yet?" she asks.

"Undoubtedly," I reply. Then I rethink my sureness. "Well, Alice will be, at least."

That makes her smile. She turns and skips out of the room; I pull on my shirt (without buttoning it) and then follow, catching her as she reaches the top of the stairs. She pouts at the shirt, but then slides her fingers between the two sides to stroke my chest.

This seems like a good time to officially check her hand, so I make the request. She is her usual dismissive self, but when I take a look, it does seem a lot better than I'd expected—her skin has already knitted over all but the largest punctures and the remaining scabs are surprisingly small (so even Jasper will be able to cope with it). Knowing she would rather not have a proper bandage, but preferring not to leave it fully exposed, I offer an alternative covering—a clean handkerchief.

Bella is surprisingly agreeable, so I retrieve one from her drawer and wrap it twice around her hand. She smiles and compliments me on my "nifty" folding, then heads downstairs to the truck, her steps quickening. I feel my own excitement building, though it is tinged with nerves—I have not seen my family for 122 days.

We are both quiet while Bella sets out along the familiar route.

"Carlisle agrees with me," she says, out of the blue.

"About what?" I ask warily.

"About your soul."

I sigh. "When did you two talk about that?"

"He must've been careful with his thoughts," she muses.

"You haven't answered my question."

"My birthday," she says with a sigh, "when he was stitching my arm."

I sigh, too. "I'm sorry," I say again.

She glances at me, then back at the road. "How long since you saw them?"

"One hundred and twenty-two days," I admit.

Her eyes widen, then she shakes her head. "Poor Esme," she murmurs.

I can't disagree. I am torn between pure delight at our impending reunion and pure guilt at having caused her worry and heartache for a purpose that has ultimately failed—and one that she never believed in in the first place.

And then I start hearing my family's thoughts. Esme's excitement pierces my heart with remorse—but I can't help feeling her excitement, too. I missed them all so much… I even feel a swell of fondness for the familiar refrain of Rosalie's self-centred, bitter-tinged thoughts (until I listen to what she is actually thinking).

Alice is waiting outside the house, bouncing up and down on her toes, impatient for us to arrive. She knows I can hear her thoughts already, so she is trying to moderate them; however, we _both_ agree I don't deserve such considerateness, which makes her feel less mean whenever she slips and thinks about how much she wants to scream and throw things at me.

As is Alice's intent, Bella sees her the moment the truck comes around the final bend. She makes a noise I've never heard her make before—a squeal of delight. " _Alice!_ "

Alice takes that as permission to engage, so she races to the truck. I crank the window open partway and she leaps through the gap and sits on my lap, as though I am just a part of the seat—and she is trying hard to pretend I'm not here. "Bella!"

Bella isn't the least bit thrown by Alice's sudden appearance in the truck. She laughs. "I've _really_ missed you!"

"Me, too!" Alice cries, literally bouncing with joy.

Esme runs outside and waits for Bella to pull up. Unlike Alice, who has decided to punish me (for the moment) by ignoring me rather than scream at me in front of Bella, she is as excited to see me as she is Bella. But she stands by the driver's door, because she wants to hug Bella first—to make up for not saying goodbye. When I hear the guilt Esme personally feels at abandoning Bella, I feel absolutely wretched.

The others make their appearance as Bella switches off the truck; Carlisle and Emmett had been delayed by their efforts to convince Rosalie to be nice—to both Bella _and_ me—and Jasper is hanging back because Alice has warned him about Bella's wound.

Bella all but falls into Esme's arms as she climbs out. The happiness in both of their faces is as wonderful as it is gut-wrenching. Then Esme steps back to let Carlisle welcome Bella while she turns her attention to me. For her sake, I do my best to hide my guilt and share her joy at having me back. She hugs me tightly, focusing her thoughts on her happiness at having her beloved son and daughter back in her life. Then she teases me with her amusement that she has even missed occasionally worrying about her thoughts and the effect they might have on me.

Meanwhile, Carlisle only gets half a hug with Bella before Alice is worming her way in. Bella and Carlisle both laugh and let her into their embrace. Esme lets me go, and Emmett gives me a deliberately hard punch on the arm, before taking his turn with Bella.

He whips her away from Alice and spins her around. He moves a little too quickly, so Bella is giddy when he sets her down, but he knows to keep a good hold on her. She gives him an extra smile, and I wonder if she is thinking about Rosalie's selfish resentment of this life, or anticipating her own enthusiasm for life as a vegetarian vampire.

Carlisle turns to me then, and pulls me into his arms. I feel so many emotions, it is hard to focus on my own thoughts let alone everyone else's.

"I'm _so_ sorry," I murmur.

"Hush," he says, his thoughts full of the deepest love.

"I love you," I reply, and I am glad that he feels my answering love for him.

He presses a kiss to my forehead, and then leads me inside. Bella, Alice, and Esme follow behind, arm in arm, and then Emmett drags Rosalie in behind him. Jasper hasn't breathed since Bella arrived, and he continues to hold his breath as he is the last to step inside. He shuts the door and then allows himself a moment to enjoy Bella's intense happiness while he's still gripping the door handle. I let myself enjoy it, too, just for a moment, and he gives me a quick smile when he feels my own mood soar.

While Esme tells Bella what she and Carlisle did while they were away, I listen to the fuller tale in their thoughts. Carlisle has been working nights in Ithaca and teaching part time at Cornell, while Esme restored a seventeenth-century house in the forest north of the city. Carlisle enjoyed the academic discussions and Esme loved the house, but beneath their memories of meeting new and interesting people and exploring new locales, it's clear they had both been ready to drop everything at a moment's notice and return to Forks.

Then Emmett updates her on his and Rose's latest honeymoon (in Africa, to appease her as much as possible). Rosalie hangs back from both of us, irritated that I'm getting such a warm reception after the havoc I've wreaked on her world. The fact that I am about to fail—that the future Alice has long seen for Bella is about to befall her and the "stupid girl" will get the life she _shouldn't_ want—so my efforts and all their concessions have been for nothing, makes her especially angry. Though she deserves to be angry with me, her anger at Bella makes the apology stick in my throat.

Alice keeps her news short—verbally and mentally—so I don't learn any more than Bella does: she has been looking into her past. Jasper is the only one who knows more detail than that, which is surprising and unnerving, but I try not to dwell on it; I trust his serenity as he deliberately fills his thoughts with a selection of the latest philosophical teachings he's been debating in his classes at Cornell.

When the conversation seems to be heading towards the question of how Bella spent the past six months, she stops it with the news that she has something she needs to say to all of us; then she makes a face and Jasper feels a burst of nervous energy scatter a little of the happiness.

"Edward has agreed to make me a _proper_ member of this family," she says, "and I hope you'll have me."

"Hell, yeah!" Emmett agrees, with his usual enthusiasm; in his thoughts, he teases me for my illogical—in _his_ opinion—determination not to change her. _Bella_ wants it, _I_ want it, _everyone_ wants it, and yet I still fight it.

Esme enfolds Bella in her arms. "You already _are_ a proper member of this family."

"But Jasper will enjoy not having to fight the urge to kill you all the time," Alice jokes; Jasper gives Bella a rueful smile, but keeps his mouth shut.

Bella smiles at them, and then at Carlisle, whose affectionate expression is evidence enough that he agrees with Esme. Only Rosalie looks sour, but her objection is not for Bella's sake—it is her own vanity and, again, her frustration at being forced out of Forks.

Before she can express her petty objections, I explain that Bella isn't presenting this intention with any urgency. "We're going to go to college first."

This puts Rosalie's mind sufficiently at ease, though her disgust at Bella's rejection of her humanity remains, something I can't disparage.

"Enough talk of college," Emmett says. "I wanna hear about last night." _I can't_ believe _you went up against Victoria and didn't tell us!_

I sigh. "I'm sorry, Emmett. I would've included you if the wolves could've handled it."

"Less apologising, more reporting."

I nod, then begin my tale. For his sake, I describe the hunt in reasonable detail—he thinks I'm toning down the violence, so I try to convince him that it really was that easy. I do my best to explain the pack's curious telepathy, because it is integral to the story _and_ fascinating. Alice is sour about it, so I don't mention that it is especially interesting for me to hear telepaths for the first time.

When I get to the news that I now have permission to come and go as I please, Bella purses her lips. I'm confused for a moment—until her eyes stray towards my arm.

"Bella, I don't—"

"They'll see them anyway, won't they?" she asks innocently.

I sigh. "The fight against Victoria went smoothly," I tell my curious family, "but there was a small incident in the morning." Before Emmett can rip the shirt off my body, I shrug off the left sleeve. "One of the wolves tore off my arm," I explain, holding out my left arm so they can see the scars on either side of my elbow.

Esme gasps, and they all crowd around me, studying the scars with much interest—except Jasper, of course, who maintains the distance between himself and Bella.

Carlisle uses the pattern of scarring to visualise the process of reattachment; Alice thinks I deserved it (and she's peeved she didn't get to witness it); Rosalie is amused that I am no longer 'perfect'; and Emmett is actually jealous—he likes the teeth marks.

" _Bad ass_ ," Emmett says approvingly.

I can't help but chuckle.

Now that the catching up is out of the way, Rosalie leaves; Emmett goes with her, knowing he will pay for it for months if he stays. Esme and Carlisle stay a little longer, but they are both aware of the need for me to rebuild my relationship with Alice, and of Bella's friendship with her, so they eventually go upstairs to give us some space.

Without them, Alice's one-sided contributions to the conversation are harder to work around. Bella sees the tension between us and tries to break it, but Alice is even more pointed in her efforts to ignore me. To bypass Bella's hesitancy to tell her own story, Alice asks for specific details about her life while we've been away; the books she's had to read for school, those she's read for pleasure, the places she's visited—

I gasp when Alice sees Bella admit that her sudden taste for motorcycle riding had been to encourage hallucinations of _me_. I am torn between relief that Jacob wasn't her chosen distraction after all (whatever he may have become later) and horror that she was putting her life at risk to see me even when I wasn't there.

Bella looks at me, but Alice keeps her focus on Bella. She asks about Charlie, which is the only thing that could distract her, so I have to wait a little longer for Bella's explanation.

And then, to make me wait even longer, Alice suggests that I play for them. Esme hears her and immediately hopes that I will—she begs me not to feel pressured, but there's no way I can't play when I know how truly happy it will make them both.

Thanks to Jasper, I can feel exactly how much Bella enjoys my recital of Esme's favourite. Partway through, the music shifts a little, becoming a fresh take on the expression of love and family in the original version.

Jasper wants to touch Bella—to feel her happiness first hand—but he is afraid to get too close, and I am too afraid of the same thing to want to reassure him. I will not risk Bella's safety, even to ease my brother's guilt.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8: Rescuer**

As the day begins to wane, I feel the growing pressure of an outstanding obligation. "I want to talk to Charlie," I tell Bella.

" _Today?_ " she asks, cringing.

"I owe _him_ an apology, too," I remind her; Jacob's unpleasant memories of Charlie's anguish flit through my mind.

"Why not give him a few days to get used to you being back?"

I shake my head. "I put him through a lot of pain, too."

She sighs, then nods. " _After_ dinner," she insists.

We stop by the supermarket on the way back to her house, and she buys mincemeat, burger buns, and a dozen different vegetables and fillings. I unpack everything while Bella calls Charlie at the police station to say she'll cook at home tonight.

"Edward's eating with his family," she adds casually, "but he'll come over after that—he'd like to speak with you."

I hear him snort through the phone, but he agrees to be home by six.

When Bella starts cooking, I offer my usual assistance—chopping up vegetables. She gives me detailed instructions, and then we both set to work, though I pay more attention to the way she moves than to what either of us is doing. Despite the variety, the food seems utterly boring to me, but Bella seems cheerful as she prepares the mince.

She is still laying out the various burger fillings on the table when Charlie gets home. I give her a quick kiss on the cheek, then run upstairs. Her father stomps inside, then walks into the kitchen without stopping to hang up his gun.

"Hi, Dad," Bella says, as if everything is normal. "Did you have a good day?"

"My _day_ was fine," he says pointedly. Then he adds, " _Anyone else_ here?"

"Not yet," she replies cheerfully, ignoring his grumpiness.

He sighs, then stops back into the hallway and hangs up his gun. He seems to make up his mind as he walks back to the kitchen; I get a sense of heightened resolve. He is steeling himself for another battle. "Bella—"

"No, Dad," she says, cutting off what was obviously going to be a stern talking-to. "I forgive Edward—that's _my_ choice. If you can't respect that, then that's _your_ choice, but at least give him a chance. He wants to apologise."

Charlie snorts. "It'll take more than that."

Bella doesn't answer; when she next speaks, it is dinner-related.

I wait upstairs until they have begun to eat, and then I run home to collect my car. When I pull into the driveway, I can hear Bella rinsing the plates in the sink. Charlie's mood hasn't improved, but I hadn't really expected it to—it wasn't _hunger_ getting on his nerves.

Taking care to move at human speed, I get out of the car and make my way up to the front door. I knock twice, then smile as Bella practically runs to the door and yanks it open.

"Edward!" she exclaims happily.

Charlie is standing in the doorway of the lounge, so I accept a light kiss and then step inside.

"Chief Swan," I say politely.

His lip curls; now that he's in his own house, he can be as rude as he likes. "I ought to ban you from the house," he growls.

He hates me, and I deserve every bit of it. For the first time, I am glad that I can't hear the detail of his thoughts, though his loathing comes through loud and clear. I still haven't figured out what to say to him, because no words can make right what I did to his daughter, but Bella's stubborn insistence that it is her choice to forgive me is not explanation enough. He deserves more than that.

"I wish I could take back the last six months," I tell him earnestly, trying to find the right amount of truth that I can share with him. "I have no excuse—I was… stupid and immature, and afraid of my _own_ feelings as much as Bella's." I pause for dramatic effect, wishing I could know what I need to say to convince him of the story of teenage angst I am building. "I've never had a girlfriend before, and suddenly, it all got too serious and I couldn't handle it."

Charlie growls, and Bella twitches beside me, her hand tightening in mine, but I think my gambit is paying off, because his fury already feels less potent.

"When Carlisle was offered the job in Los Angeles, it gave me an excuse to run away. But I missed her _every_ _second_ —" this time, I have to pause to regain control of my emotions—"and the more I tried to… live around the emptiness inside me, the harder it got to do anything."

" _Every second_ ," Charlie quotes acerbically. "Took you long enough to let _Bella_ know."

"I was afraid she wouldn't take me back," I admit shamefacedly.

He snorts, but that doesn't seem to convey sufficient disapproval, for he quickly adds, "She _shouldn't_."

" _Dad_ ," Bella says warningly.

He gestures towards me in exasperation. "That kid didn't just break your heart, he—!" Words fail him. My one consolation is that, despite his renewed discontentment, his hatred is still less than it was.

"I've learned my lesson," I promise him. "I'm hers as long as she wants me."

He eyes me intently at that, and I wonder if I've shown too much conviction after trying to build a case on youthful naivety.

"I forgive him, Dad," Bella says, repeating herself. She grins at me and then reaches up to touch my lips with her finger. "And he's going to spend the rest of his days making it up to me."

I manage not to grimace at her 'joke', but I can barely force my lips into a smile. "I love you," I say, avoiding the comment without, I hope, raising Charlie's suspicions.

"I know," she replies, deliberately teasing me, and the warmth in her eyes is like having my own personal sun. Her doubts are gone and mine are disappearing like the last wisps of mist beneath the sun's glorious rays.

" _You_ can tell your mother," Charlie suddenly announces.

Bella cringes, then nods. "I'll call her tonight."

He opens his mouth to say something else—but is interrupted when the phone rings. He strides into the kitchen and I hear him pick up the handset. "Charlie Swan."

There is a sniffle, and then Sue Clearwater, her voice thick with emotion, says, _"Charlie, it's Sue—Harry just had a heart attack."_

Charlie hears in her voice that it was serious. Then Sue confirms it. _"He didn't make it,"_ she murmurs. (I recall the funeral Alice had foreseen, surprised that it has turned out to be Harry's; I'd assumed it would be someone from Forks, not someone Bella and I knew personally.)

He is silent for a moment as he tries to process the grief. "Can I—see him?" he asks, his voice rough.

Bella's hand clenches around mine and I look at her, realising I've been so focused on the conversation and trying to read Charlie's thoughts that I'd forgotten she wasn't privy to the same information.

"Harry Clearwater," I murmur, wondering if I should be forewarning her.

Through the phone, Sue replies, _"Of course."_

"I'll come right over," Charlie promises. He sets the handset down heavily onto the phone.

Bella pulls me along the hallway and into the kitchen. "What is it, Dad?" she murmurs, with the perfect amount of concern.

Charlie rubs a hand over his face, surreptitiously wiping away a few tears. "Harry Clearwater just passed away."

She lets go of my hand and goes to comfort her father. "I'm so sorry, Dad," she says as she wraps her arms around him.

He takes a shuddery breath, then puts one arm around her. After half a minute, he says, "I said I'd go there now…"

"Of course you should," Bella agrees. "I'll be fine."

He gives me half a glare, but his grief far outweighs his anger at me—and perhaps he is glad that Bella won't be left here alone, for he doesn't try to impose a curfew on either of us.

After he leaves, Bella leads me upstairs. She is too sad to curl up with me on the bed, so I suggest an alternative pastime; knowing how much she enjoys me reading aloud to her, I offer my services on any book she'd like. That makes her smile. It takes her a minute to choose the book, but then she retrieves her copy of _The Taming of the Shrew_ from her desk.

" _You're_ Katherina," she teases, tossing the small volume at me.

I laugh, because there _are_ some curious similarities, and then flick through the pages, reading the notes she's written on sticky notes throughout the copy—my memory of the play doesn't require prompting—before purposefully returning it to its spot on the desk. Bella chuckles to herself, then settles in for my one-man performance.

I am partway through the first scene of act three—where Bianca playfully chides Lucentio, disguised as Cambio, for his cunning suit—when, out of nowhere, I feel a sudden burst of fear, and then a desperate scream cuts through my mind: _Leah!_

I freeze. What did I just hear? Was that _Sam's_ voice? I concentrate on my extra sense, but I can't hear anything else from him. When I refocus on Bella, she is staring at me with wide, worried eyes.

"The wolves need help," I say in a rush, and then, though I know she is afraid, I turn and throw myself out the window. The moment my feet touch the ground, I start running full tilt.

The split second reading I got from Sam is just enough to see that Harry Clearwater's daughter, Leah—a wolf as of two hours ago—has run far out of the Quileute reservation. And now she is chasing a vampire, on her own. If I don't get there in time, she is going to die.

I stretch out my senses, trying to pick up Sam's thoughts again, but I still can't hear anything. Maybe he is running, too, and his focus now is on the speed of his legs.

Taking a moment to ease off on my mental search, I pull out my phone and call Alice. She answers on the second ring; I don't like to speculate why it took her so long.

"Edward?"

"I need you to go to Bella's—tell her Leah Clearwater is a wolf now and she's chasing a vampire. The pack is too far away to help, but I might be able to get there before she—"

 _Leah!_ , a male voice I don't immediately recognise shouts in my head, and then Sam's mental voice is there, too, begging Leah to give up the hunt, while all of Leah's rage at losing her father (she _refuses_ to accept the blame for his heart attack, though she is also the one thinking it), at becoming a wolf—the first female wolf in the tribe's long history—and at having her thoughts tied to the thoughts of her formerly beloved boyfriend is focused on one of the evil creatures that triggered her unwanted supernatural side.

"I've got to go," I say to Alice.

"Be careful," she says.

"I will," I promise, then hang up.

The other mind I can hear alongside Sam's and Leah's belongs to Seth, the boy I met last night. Except he is not a boy anymore. He is a wolf now, too, despite being only 14 years old. His pain at losing his father makes his fears for his sister all the greater. He is running as hard as Sam and I are, so he's bound to reach her—and the vampire—before I get there.

I am running as fast as I can, but I wish I could run faster—almost as much as I wish that, right now, they could hear me the way I can hear them.

And then I catch a break, of sorts. The vampire runs towards me instead of away; unfortunately, he is also running towards Seth.

But before Seth reaches them, the vampire stops running and goes on the attack. Leah has to jump over him to avoid his fist—but she's still new to this form and she stumbles on the landing, exposing her lack of skill. He lunges at her, driving his fist into her back leg and shattering part of her knee.

She howls in pain, and Seth and Sam howl with her—the vampire hears them and, for a moment, he hesitates. I hope he will run, but then Leah snaps at him and he makes up his mind. He punches her again, this time in the back, and she collapses to the ground with an almighty wail, her back legs limp.

Sam and Seth cry out with her, sharing her pain, as she begins to realise that she could actually die. Part of her doesn't care, but that part is almost entirely swallowed by fear.

After stomping on her front leg, the vampire grabs her head. She tries desperately to pull out of his grasp, snapping madly with her jaws, but he is easily strong enough to gain control, and I think he breaks her jaw in the process. But then he stops. He could crush her skull or rip her jaws apart, but instead he simply holds her until she stops trying to fight him.

"The redhead," he says. "Have you seen her?"

Leah is as surprised as we all are. She doesn't respond, but it is easy enough to see that she knows what he's asking.

" _Where is she?_ " he demands, though I don't know how he expects the wolf to answer him.

Seth is close now—as am I—and despite Sam's hesitancy, he is planning to attack. Although Sam could order Seth to stay back and wait for him, and he _wants_ to, he can't make himself do it—Leah could die before he gets there, and he concedes that Seth has a chance of distracting the vampire.

But I know a distraction won't be enough. Leah has gone into shock; her thoughts are barely coherent. Unless we can overpower the vampire, he will kill Leah before we can chase him off or carry her to safety.

I map out various scenarios in my head—worst case, when I arrive, Seth tries to attack me; best case, Sam convinces Seth to trust me, so I can distract the vampire while he protects his sister.

When I am finally within range of the vampire's thoughts, his identity is immediately clear: Victoria made herself a pet. Riley loves her desperately—with all the intensity of a newborn—and he is convinced she loves him just as deeply. He thinks she has been scouting the territory of a large vampire clan with special gifts—us, of course—because we have threatened to kill her and she is searching for a weakness, hoping to take _us_ down instead. They have already set up a base out of Seattle and started building their vampire army.

From Seth's thoughts, I know I am barely ten seconds behind him when he rushes out to confront Riley.

"Seth, no!" I shout, revealing my presence because, if Seth attacks Riley, Riley will kill Leah—and then Seth. (They will catch my scent soon enough anyway.)

Seth and Riley are both distracted by my shout. Sam is amazed, but even before his reassurance that I'm on their side, Seth is surprisingly open to trusting me. The young wolf hangs back to wait for me, growling in warning to the vampire who is soon to be outnumbered.

Riley keeps his grip on Leah; for now, she is a useful hostage.

I enter the clearing and stop five yards away from Seth.

"Riley," I say. "Victoria told me about you."

He freezes; for an instant, hope rushes through him, but then the distrust kicks in and he closes down. "You're a _Cullen_ ," he spits.

"Let the wolf go."

"Where's Victoria?"

If I tell him I killed her, it's possible he'll let Leah go and charge me, but it's even more likely that he'll snap Leah's neck before he comes after me, so I lie. "She's at our home—we invited her to stay with us."

He snorts to express his scepticism, but the distraction is working. I can tell his arms are loosening around Leah. If only Leah weren't so terrified.

"She is discussing a treaty with our leader," I explain, hoping that might sound more believable. "We are considering letting her have a portion of Seattle."

"Why?"

"She's cunning and resourceful. She could be useful to us."

His lip curls; yes, this aligns with the ruthless Cullens she told him about. "Like your guard dogs?" he taunts.

Seth growls, but he isn't as angered by the inference as I'd expect—perhaps because his focus is on devising a plan to rescue Leah. He and Sam are thinking hard; even as I follow their thoughts, I am impressed by the young wolf's maturity.

"Victoria didn't tell you about them?" I ask, layering my tone with a mocking edge.

Riley sneers at me; he trusts her so completely that nothing I say will convince him she's a liar. His determination makes it especially easy for me; even if he hadn't attacked Leah, I would have every right to act in self-defence. "She told me your home is well defended."

Sam suggests a response, and I tailor it to fit Victoria's schemes. "She told _us_ her army was obedient—yet you've entered our lands against her instructions. If you kill our wolf, I can't let you share in whatever treaty we reach with Victoria, and you will become our enemy."

Riley growls, angered by my patronising reproof, but then, impossibly, he drops Leah's head, even though he doubts the wolf can recover from its injuries; even though, more importantly, he distrusts this talk of a treaty.

Seth tenses, but Sam tells him to wait for my signal.

"Stand back so her brother can—" Riley's thoughts give me a split-second's warning. I launch myself at him.

Though Riley is only a few months old, and therefore much stronger than I, I am still faster. I get there in time to push him away from Leah before he can drive his foot through her ribcage. But the strength necessary to force him back traps me within arm's reach for too long. He grabs my arm and throws me aside. I smash through a dozen tree trunks before managing to halt my momentum thanks to a larger tree, fifty-eight yards away.

As I extricate myself from the shattered trunk, Riley closes the distance between us. He intends to torture me to get to the truth. He is so certain that Victoria would have called him that there is only one conclusion: we caught her. And if we caught her, she is probably dead. Despite her unfaltering confidence in her ability to evade us, we must have somehow bested her.

" _I_ killed her," I say, hoping his rage will distract him.

It does; he isn't quick enough to trap me against the tree. His fingertips catch my shirt as I dodge around him, snagging in the fabric and tearing a strip down the side.

"She _begged_ for mercy," I add, playing the part of a textbook villain.

He roars. His thoughts are a frenzy of hatred and despair. " _Liar!_ " he shrieks, racing after me. I lead him deeper into the forest, away from Leah, but he isn't thinking about the wolves at all. His every thought is fixed on ripping me apart.

While Riley is utterly focused on me, Seth stealthily follows us, waiting for me to herd the doomed vampire back towards him. I am a little nervous about letting Seth assist, but fighting Victoria sapped more of my strength than I'd thought, and sprinting here at top speed hasn't helped, so his help will make defeating Riley _considerably_ easier—and between me and Sam, who is thinking with him, supporting him, I think we can protect him.

 _Why oh why didn't I go hunting today?_ , I ask myself, lamenting my foolish complacency. But I can't afford any distractions now, so I focus on Riley and on keeping just ahead of his powerful arms. I weave around trees and throw rocks at him, and all my tricks serve only one purpose: to drive his fury even higher. He is still sufficiently in control that nothing I do hurts him—only my words have the power to wound.

And then Seth bursts out of the trees and latches onto Riley's arm. Riley roars and tries to throw him, but Seth is quicker—his powerful jaws sever the arm before Riley can flip him.

I know well the shock of being dismembered, but Riley reacts to it with a surprising degree of panic.

"Here, Seth!" I call, holding my hands out for the arm; if Riley weren't so disoriented, I wouldn't have dared to distract him.

Sam understands what I want before Seth does, so Seth tosses the arm to me without further ado, while Riley is still coming to terms with his loss. His conflicted thoughts seem to be paralysing him, spinning from the fear of dying (again) to his grief over Victoria's loss to his need for revenge.

Seth and I take advantage of his indecision. Holding the forearm, I use the hand like a spear and drive the fingers into Riley's neck, even as Seth clamps down on the as-yet-undamaged shoulder. Riley's focus is on trying to dislodge the hand, but the fingers are buried in his neck, so all he manages to do is break off the end of the little finger before he loses that arm, too. I lever the rest of the hand up and down and then Riley's screams cut off abruptly as his head parts from his body.

The body slumps to the ground, currently lifeless, and Seth and I take a moment to breathe. We share a grin, and I am caught a little off guard by the camaraderie in his thoughts. Though I am the very creature we have just defeated, he doesn't see me as a monster. He sees the tint of gold in my dark eyes, so distinct from the blood red of Riley's; and even though my scent stings his nose just as Riley's does, he thinks it is less irritating.

Sam concurs with his thoughts, but his own are more focused on his gratitude: although Leah is still in grave danger, they know that she would already be dead without my interference. Seth and I can see that Sam is almost here—he has run 14 miles in under eight minutes—so I suggest to Seth that he comfort his sister while I burn Riley's body.

Leah's thoughts are frighteningly weak, but at least she notices his presence.

 _We got him_ , Seth tells her, picturing the two of us tearing him apart.

She isn't overly comforted; she is in a lot of pain—even though she still can't feel her back legs—and she doesn't trust me, despite Seth's reassurances.

I keep well back and complete the task of carrying the pieces of Riley onto a clearer patch of ground so I can burn them without risking the forest.

Sam arrives as I strike two stones together to start the fire (not as efficient as the lighter I used last night, but effective enough).

 _Slow coach_ , Seth teases, but Sam can't joke—he is too worried about Leah.

The two consider changing back, but neither wants to lose the connection with Leah's thoughts or each other's, so Sam requests the use of _my_ hands to check her physical condition.

I set Riley's remains alight; then, keeping one eye on the fire, I slowly approach the three wolves.

Leah is understandably unhappy about the idea, but Sam and Seth beg her to let me assess her injuries.

"I will be as gentle as possible," I promise her.

She isn't comforted, but she accepts that she is in no state to help herself—and the pain is growing rather than lessening, which worries all of us.

I move at human speed as I reach out to run my hands across her ribs, checking for any broken bones. She gives a weak yelp, but it is more the unpleasantness of my cold touch than actual pain, and her ribs are lying where they should. When I pass on this information, Sam's worries ease ever so slightly. I leave her head alone for now, despite my concerns for her jaw, and I don't bother to feel along her left leg—Riley clearly shattered the knee, and part of her shin bone is protruding through the skin. I check her shoulder, and it feels dislocated, but it isn't until I dare to run my fingers along her spine that I find an injury that feels beyond even the wolves' mighty healing ability.

Her lower spine is not merely severed, it is three inches from the nearest vertebra in her upper spine, and her back muscles are either twisted or completely torn away from the bone.

When I make no comment, they know it's bad. Sam wonders if she ought to try changing back—maybe her human body will heal faster, because it's smaller, but I am worried that her paralysed lower body _won't_ change back.

I give them the worst-case scenario. They don't know what drives the change any more than I do, so they can't say what might happen. Sam decides it's time to call in reinforcements. He gave the rest of the pack the night off, which is why they haven't already discovered our plight, so I call Jared and ask him to muster the others.

While we wait for them to join us telepathically, we debate how best to transport Leah back to La Push. None of the medical training I have seems at all useful. Then I realise the obvious. I whip out my phone and call Carlisle.

He answers before the first ring ends. "Wadie?" he says, his concern manifesting in his use of Esme's affectionate nickname for me (from her original nickname for me, Wade)—Alice has obviously apprised him of the situation.

"Leah's spine is badly broken," I blurt, trying to explain as quickly as possible. "We don't know if she should shift back to human form—or even if she can. What should we do? We're seven miles from Forks."

"Is she conscious?"

"Yes." Then I remember he doesn't know anything about the wolves' healing ability. "The wolves heal fast—at least a hundred times faster than humans—and she's not bleeding anymore, so she's healing, but her back half is still paralysed."

"Unless you realign her vertebrae and set any broken bones, they will heal incorrectly."

I remember pictures of humans with curved limbs caused by a lack of or shoddy medical care after a break, and sifting through memories of Carlisle's memories provides some rather more unpleasant examples. I don't like what it means for Leah.

"Edward, you need to put her spine back in line before the bones start to fuse."

"I think they already have," I mumble.

He sighs. "Assess the damage to her vertebrae and then do what you can to align her spine and reattach any torn muscles and tendons. If the muscles have already started repairing themselves, fibres from different muscles could have knitted together, so only separate them if you can fix the misalignment."

While I struggle to process Carlisle's instructions, Paul joins us, then Embry and Jared one after the other. Their understandable horror momentarily incapacitates me, but when they start running, I can think again. I repeat Carlisle's advice for the whole pack's benefit.

Sam thinks we should try it, so he concentrates firmly on the change—it takes him much longer than usual to gain the necessary control—and then phases back to his human form so he can assist me. But he can't help feeling along her lower leg where the skin has already regrown over the compound fracture. Although the bone feels distinctly smoother, the misalignment is still as bad as it was. We both wince; Seth whimpers softly.

After relocating her shoulder, Sam considers trying to reset the bone now. I put my hand on his arm to stop him. "Carlisle knows what to do," I say. "We'll limit the damage as best we can, but I don't think we should try doing that."

"Carlisle doesn't know—"

"He knows everything there is to know about broken bones," I say. "He may not have a background in wolf physiology, but I _promise_ you, he can help Leah better than anyone else on Earth."

Sam's trust in me isn't currently audible to his pack, though they can see him nod, but Seth's faith more than makes up for it. His thoughts stun the other wolves. While the seriousness of Leah's condition has effectively forced them to accept help from another vampire, Seth is utterly confident in my genuine care for his sister and the pack. If I say Carlisle is Leah's best hope, then Carlisle is Leah's best hope.

And then I remember that Carlisle is still waiting on the other end of the phone. "Get everything you think you might need to treat her spine, two broken legs, and a broken jaw—we'll bring her to the house, so please ask everyone to leave." (Seth is the only one of the pack untroubled by the thought of taking Leah to the home of seven vampires, but none of them can think of a better—or closer—option.)

"I'll be ready in forty-five minutes," he replies, trying to be as specific as possible.

"Thanks," I say. "We'll do what we can in the meantime."

"Of course," he replies, with absolute faith, before hanging up.

And then Sam and I set about straightening Leah's spine. Sam moves around to her other side, and together we raise her back half into its proper position. Leah can't feel anything, which scares her, but Seth does his best to comfort her, licking her forehead and thinking soothing, positive thoughts.

The next stage is far from pleasant, though, and she certainly feels it when I tear a small hole through her skin so that I can assess the damage to her spine. It is worse than I'd feared: the broken vertebra is almost completely crushed on one side, leaving no space for the spinal cord. Even if I break the vertebra apart and hold it until it knits back together in a more natural shape—or until Carlisle can somehow splint it—I don't know if the spinal cord can repair itself.

Sam's eyesight isn't as good as mine, but he can see enough to share my concerns. He agrees with me that we shouldn't play around with her spine—the chances of her getting any feeling back in her lower half in the next ten minutes are slim—so I straighten out the muscles that aren't too bound up with other muscles, align the two parts of her spine, and then let her skin reseal itself.

I take over from Sam holding her back half in place, keeping one hand on her spine so I can feel if anything shifts, while he does what he can to reposition her jaw, and then we wait for the others to arrive.

Eight long minutes later they burst into the clearing. Leah's muscles have tightened around the break in her spine, so, although she still can't feel anything, I feel a lot better about moving her.

Jared and Paul phase into human form so we can share Leah's weight amongst us as evenly as possible, while Embry and Seth start clearing a path through the trees. The two boys are sometimes overly efficient, so I keep them on target by giving them frequent course directions.

It takes us an hour to carry Leah the three miles to my home. Carlisle, with Esme's help, has considerately established a three-sided marquee on the lawn, so the wolves don't have to take Leah inside. I assure them that the rest of our family is far away, and they do their best to remain calm, though smelling seven different vampires has Embry's hackles up and would have the others' up, too, if they were in wolf form (Sam, Jared, and Paul) or not too weak (Leah). Seth alone is easy-going about the location, and he isn't keeping tabs on Carlisle and me the way the others are.

We set Leah down on the queen-size bed (it is Carlisle and Esme's, but Esme has bought new sheets, so the vampire smell is relatively faint). The moment they let go of Leah, Jared and Paul phase back. They both crave the comfort of the communal pack mind in this anxiety-fuelling situation, and although Seth's bizarrely relaxed attitude towards us vampires irritates them, it helps ease their edginess.

Sam and I keep hold of Leah to make sure her back doesn't slump, while Carlisle introduces himself and then begins to assess her condition. As he feels along her skeleton, he explains that he has spent the past ten minutes on the internet studying the wolf skeleton and physiology, so he has a rudimentary understanding, but he will still think of her as human first and foremost. (As he speaks, he tells me in his thoughts that he rang Alice, so Bella knows what is happening. I thank him with a smile, grateful that I don't have to worry about her, or try to support Leah's spine while calling Alice.)

His long-perfected bedside manner begins to work on both patient and pack, and soon they are all watching him with more curiosity than anxiety. His thoughts are fascinating. Once he has assessed her injuries, he explains to Leah and the others what damage has been done to her body. It is a long list of grievous injuries. Her jawbone has healed crookedly, her front left leg is a mass of fused and deformed bone, her back left knee is shattered, two vertebrae in her neck and back are fused and warped, one vertebra is half squashed, and many of her core muscles and tendons have not reattached themselves to the correct bones or in the correct arrangement. But after that sorry news, he gives us hope that all these injuries, including her spine and spinal cord, can heal.

As he sets about repairing her broken body, starting with putting in a morphine drip, we all cling to that hope.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9: Doctor**

The pack and I step out of the tent, leaving Carlisle to tend his patient without us crowding him. (As we leave, I grab the clothing Esme left for me; it is next to a pile of clothes for the wolves, but they don't need them yet so I don't mention it.) Carlisle is focusing on her spine first; he agrees that she shouldn't risk the transformation while her spinal cord is severed, and he thinks it will be less stressful on her body, and more straightforward for him, if she can return to human form as soon as possible.

Sam changes forms and some of the tension he is feeling immediately eases. I am intrigued that, in the back of his mind, he is glad he can still communicate just as effectively with me—though that is nothing to how I feel at the tacit agreement of the other wolves. I'm not surprised that one more person hearing their thoughts doesn't bother them, but I am still, by nature, their enemy. Tonight, that seems more obvious than ever, to _me_ ; to _them_ , my humanity has never seemed more real or pure, and their trust in me is the only reason they can trust Carlisle. All over again, I feel truly humbled by their generosity of spirit.

While I change my clothes, shedding the torn, bloody shirt and trousers, Sam debates what to tell Sue. None of the wolves can figure out what to say to her, and Seth's guilt doesn't help. He and Leah had run off without thinking about their mother and what she was going through, ignoring Sam's sage advice to stay close for the night and focus on learning how to phase back. Instead, they had both been selfish—Leah focusing on her own pain and Seth on his excitement. But Sam excuses their impulsiveness and blames himself: against his better judgement, he had let Leah and Seth run off by themselves. He should've ordered them to stay on the Reservation, and he definitely shouldn't have told the other wolves to do their best to stay in human form. He'd been trying to help the new wolves by minimising the number of voices in their heads, but what he'd actually done was leave two inexperienced wolves _and_ the tribe open to attack.

"We _all_ thought the danger had passed," I tell him softly, trying to ease his guilt. "Tonight was supposed to be your night off."

He sighs, then asks me how I'd known Leah was in danger—had I been nearby? I smile and shake my head. "I was at Bella's. Your thoughts must've routed through Seth's for a split second, even though his mind wasn't overly familiar to me and he was well beyond the usual limit of my telepathy. I heard just enough to see that Leah was in danger, and to locate her."

 _You left Bella—?_ , Sam asks, picturing exactly what had happened—me shooting off with barely an explanation.

"Yes, but I called Alice on the way; she's with Bella now."

Seth listens to Sam's appreciation of my actions, leaving Bella momentarily alone so that I would reach Leah as soon as possible, and adds his own to it.

"You're welcome," I murmur to both of them, in awe of how well Seth is coping with hearing and making sense of the others' thoughts (and Sam is, too—even Jacob wasn't as quick to adjust). "I wanted to help—I owe you for protecting Bella." But that doesn't feel like the whole story, so I add, "And I like hearing your thoughts; I've never met anyone else who could read minds."

They are torn between understanding and wishing _they_ weren't stuck hearing each other's thoughts.

"I've never wished anyone could hear _my_ thoughts," I say, "but I did tonight."

That sobers them. We are all glad Leah wasn't truly alone with the vampire: losing the privacy of their thoughts is a small sacrifice to save her life.

Then Sam heaves a sigh. _If she hadn't been running from my thoughts, she might have_ _stayed nearer home_.

 _And if we hadn't been fighting_ , Seth adds, _I would've been closer_.

"And Riley might've killed Leah—or _you_ —before I got there."

Seth wants to think the two of them would've been a better match for the newborn, but they all agree with me. Riley's strength shocks them all. And then I remember the _other_ newborns—the army Victoria had put in his charge.

"Riley wasn't Victoria's only newborn," I tell them as I pull out my phone. "She was building an army in Seattle."

They are understandably horrified, and as surprised as I am that I hadn't found it out from Victoria.

While they're still working through their agitation at this very bad news, I call Alice. She answers before the end of the first chime of the first ring. "Tell me _everything_!" she demands, even as Bella says, "Put him on speaker!"

"We took out the newborn without further injury," I tell them both, "and Carlisle is hopeful he can help Leah heal completely." Bella sighs with relief, but I expect Alice isn't any less irritated, because she can't see what's happening and I haven't really told her anything. "I'd like to stay here a bit longer if that's all right."

"Of course," Bella says immediately.

" _Convenient_ ," Alice growls; I can hear Bella patting her arm consolingly.

"We can talk tomorrow," I promise my impatient sister.

"You better," she snaps.

"But you'll come back tonight, won't you?" Bella asks, her voice tight with apprehension.

"Of course," I promise, but this line of questioning is making the pack ask those awkward questions I had been hoping to avoid. "I won't miss saying goodnight," I say—but it doesn't stop them wondering _how_ I say goodnight.

"Okay," she agrees, sounding happier.

"I'd better—"

"Don't you _dare_ hang up," Alice warns.

" _Tomorrow_ ," I repeat, hoping she won't corner me at Bella's.

"We'll see," she retorts, proving she has something on her mind, and then _she_ hangs up on _me_.

 _Why's she mad?_ , Seth asks innocently.

"Alice has a gift, too," I explain for the benefit of the new wolf. "In simple terms, she can see the future. I just spent the past six months fighting a future that she sees as inevitable, which played havoc with her visions of our whole family's future, and now she can't see around _you_. She's not used to being blind, and it's as challenging for her as it was for me when I first met Bella."

Sam and the others know I'm referring to Bella's mysterious mental silence; Seth listens to this little detail with amazement. Sam thinks about what I said yesterday—that I had almost killed her the day we met. I decide to try to explain.

"Human blood makes our throats burn with thirst—and only blood eases the burning—but the scent of _her_ blood, to _me_ , was exceptionally potent. It made all other blood seem like _water_ in comparison." They do their best to understand, but they can't really appreciate the overwhelming need to quench the burn. "If we had been alone—" I flinch; so do the wolves. "I like to think I still could've stopped myself," I say, trying to defend my poor self-control, "but _not_ hearing her thoughts would've counted against her."

 _Is that why you courted her, despite the danger?_ , Sam asks. His thoughts intrigue me—he feels the same guilt about his inability to protect Emily from himself, and it helps the other wolves understand my selfishness.

I sigh. "At first, I ran away, and Carlisle counselled me to leave—Bella would be gone in a couple of years—but I didn't want to be chased away from my home by an _ordinary little_ _girl_ —" they all enjoy the joke; Bella is about as far from ordinary as they are (although I am still avoiding admitting the whole truth). "And then she was almost killed by one of her classmates when his van skidded on a patch of ice—" they gasp; my comment yesterday hadn't alerted them to the incident's seriousness—"and I couldn't let it hurt her. I risked exposing my whole family to save her.

"I pulled her out of the way, then held the van off her legs, but she was the only one who saw me doing anything superhuman," I explain, in answer to their questions. "And that was the day Alice saw that I was going to fall in love with her."

That throws them. It is even harder for them to come to terms with that situation—being _told_ how you're going to feel beforehand—than with imprinting.

"When I didn't regret risking my family for her sake, I knew there was something special about her," I point out, though I do agree with their assessment.

Sam is especially sympathetic at how shocking it must've been to fall in love with a human. He remembers the arguments the council had had over my relationship with Bella, and I am surprised that Billy was so insistent on leaving us be. Was his belief in the treaty that strong or had Bella convinced him that she deserved the right to choose a vampire boyfriend? Or was he hoping one of us would tire of the other before it got too serious?

But I don't want to raise the question with Billy, and the newborns in Seattle are preying on my mind. I've put off doing something about them for long enough, for the wrong reason—to save Bella a little anxiety—because every minute I don't act is another minute they're out causing havoc. So I give Sam a grateful smile, and then call Emmett.

" _Calling to gloat?_ " Emmett grumbles.

I can't help but smile. "Actually, I'm calling to share the fun."

" _Oh?_ "

"Jasper with you?"

" _Yeah_."

"Victoria has been making an army in Seattle—the one we killed tonight is the oldest. I saw six different faces, but I don't know how many there are now, and they're all under a month old."

Emmett whoops with joy.

" _Did you see where?_ " Jasper asks, his tone contrastingly serious.

"I got a glimpse of the house they hole up in during the day—he told them the sun will burn them, so they won't run away—" Emmett chuckles, while the wolves are curious; they've never seen a vampire in the sun—"but call Alice first." I don't want Bella to worry, but sending my brothers in blind is worse. I picture the two houses Riley and Victoria had been using (one for the newborns, one for the transitioning humans), and plan out the steps I'd take to find them, hoping Alice will be able to see it.

"We _won't be the ones in trouble_ ," Emmett taunts; he knows Alice will be mad that I told them and not her.

"I'm _already_ in trouble."

" _Bella can hack it_ ," he argues. " _She's gonna be one fierce newborn!_ "

"She'll kick _your_ arse," I retort. He laughs pregnantly, and I add, " _I'll_ kick your arse." My voice comes out a little gruffly as I struggle with the image of Emmett wrestling with Bella.

" _You don't fight fair_ ," he complains.

"Save your anger for the newborns— _they_ won't fight fair either."

I can almost feel his excitement through the phone. " _Where are they?_ "

I give him a brief description of the two houses, then hang up before he can make any other 'jokes'.

The pack is mostly thinking about the newborns—their instincts make them want to go after them, but they wouldn't leave their home unprotected and the number is understandably daunting—but Sam is also thinking about Bella. He is wondering what my brother meant.

"He thinks she'll be fierce because she's tough," I say, to reassure him. "And fearless. He doesn't mean she'll be bloodthirsty."

 _You don't know what she'll be like_.

I shrug. "Alice sees her adjusting well." I don't mention that the timing of Alice's vision is completely unknown. Then the full meaning of what we're discussing sinks in. I am sitting with five men who are literally made to kill vampires, fifty yards from their gravely injured pack-sister, discussing the creation of another vampire. Part of me wants to laugh, and part of me is gratified, but the part that wants to cry is so much stronger.

My sadness is obvious to the pack, though they debate the cause— _am_ I worried about a change of heart when Bella becomes the living dead?

"I promised that I would change her," I explain. "Which means that, one day, she'll ask me to bite her—to put her through three days of unendurable agony."

They don't know how vampires are created, so I give them a quick explanation.

 _Carlisle changed you all?_ , Sam asks, wondering how such a seemingly gentle man could be so cruel.

"Alice and Jasper joined our family after they were individually changed—" I can't help but smile as I remember their unexpected arrival—"so Carlisle only changed four of us, and we were all at the point of death."

Their curiosity mingles with a shared distaste—their instincts tell them they would all rather die than be forced to live off blood (human or otherwise) for the rest of their lives.

"Your physiology does you a favour, then," I say, trying to joke; it amuses them somewhat, but I quickly go on with my explanation to satisfy their curiosity. "I was mortally ill, Esme fell off a cliff, Rosalie was attacked, and Emmett was mauled by a bear." Embry shudders, and I remember his experience. " _That's_ why Emmett likes hunting bears," I say to him. Embry likes the sound of that.

Meanwhile, Sam wonders why Carlisle chose the four of us; a doctor must see hundreds of dying people.

"He had good reasons," I say. "Well—good _intentions_ , perhaps," I add, with a chuckle. "My dying mother asked him to save me; he felt a deep connection with Esme; he saved Emmett because Rosalie asked him to; and he saved Rosalie—" I hesitate. Will Bella be unhappy if I tell them the truth on that one? But their eagerness is too hard to refuse—especially Seth's fascination. I want to give him an amusing distraction from the ever-present grief. "He thought Rosalie and _I_ might…" I don't need to say any more.

The wolves are all surprised. Sam has seen Rosalie once, at the hospital, so they can all picture the blonde bombshell, complete with a refined sneer on her face—no doubt from smelling Sam.

Did _you—?_

"No!" I interrupt, amusing them all with my vehement denial. I laugh with them for a moment. "I wasn't the least bit interested in her, and she was mightily offended by my indifference." In answer to their thoughts, I add, "Our relationship _is_ somewhat uneasy—though it is much improved since Emmett joined us."

 _What does she think of Bella?_ , Seth asks astutely.

"She thinks we're _both_ idiots," I joke. Then, to distract them, I answer their earlier curiosity about the effect of sunlight on vampires.

They can't remotely imagine what it looks like, so I promise to show them when it's sunny next. "That's part of why we love Forks so much," I add; "the most overcast town in the US."

 _Why do you live in town?_ , Jared asks. _Why not just live by yourselves?_

"Carlisle enjoys his work, and being around people is a lot healthier than hiding from them."

 _It's still dangerous_ , Jared thinks, remembering my own admission about how close I had come to killing Bella.

"That's another reason we love Forks—there aren't many people, and most live there long-term, so it's easier to manage our thirst. Bella was definitely in the minority moving there."

They all agree that Bella is unique in that, and I find it interesting that they think she attracts trouble, too.

"Leah," Carlisle murmurs, speaking for the first time in 20 minutes. We all focus on him, and on Leah's muddled thoughts; Carlisle has sedated her as heavily as he dares to, but she is still semi-conscious because her body processes the morphine so quickly. "I'm going to break the vertebra now—you'll hear a crack and you may feel something, but you shouldn't feel any pain."

The crack sounds disturbingly loud. Leah whimpers, but we know from her thoughts that she didn't feel anything. Carlisle has already repaired the other damage to her spine, though it still needs time to heal, and he is even more confident that he can encourage her spinal cord to reconnect.

"Edward?" he asks, for the wolves' sakes. "I could use another pair of hands."

I go to him and the pack follows, though it is not anxiety that drives them. I try to untangle the pleasantly warm feelings the pack and I have for each other; then, as Carlisle begins to instruct me, I put that question aside for another time.

The pack watches as I obey Carlisle's thoughts as though my body is merely an extension of his, and they are as intrigued as they are amused. But even more than that, they all see how useful it is. Truly, Leah could not get better care from anyone else.

Before we begin the intricate work on the spinal cord, Carlisle asks me to monitor Leah's sensitivity closely, and I hear his wish—as close to envy as I have ever heard from him—that he could hear Leah's thoughts as I can.

We have joked with each other, on occasion, about the usefulness of my gift in Carlisle's line of work—that it would be both a blessing and a curse for a doctor who spends hours every day in a crowded hospital full of sick people to be able to read the minds of his patients—but this is the first time he has felt so strongly about it. I am reminded of my wish for the ability to share my thoughts with the pack, and the pack's definitive acceptance of their mental link.

"I'm listening," I assure him.

Carlisle continues to guide my hands and I am glad of the medical training I have, because it helps me to follow—and even _pre-empt_ —his instructions with the same degree of precision that he could achieve himself.

Fourteen tense minutes later, we have fixed the vertebra in place and (hopefully) rebuilt enough of the spinal cord so that her body can do the rest. The technique Carlisle used is brand new, but based on centuries of medical experience augmented by the miraculous healing he has witnessed so far tonight. Though Leah's battered body has caused itself almost as many problems as it solved, the healing it has effected is incredible in both its speed and its capability.

We wait, motionless, for the reconnected spine to heal itself, calculating how long it might theoretically take. Carlisle is also concerned that his efforts could backfire: there is a chance that the spinal cord will regrow with a deformed structure or the nerves won't heal as they should, leaving her paralysed despite the repairs—or worse, in constant pain.

Three minutes pass with no apparent change, but then Leah feels a vague, fleeting sense of pressure and then a tingling in her spine.

"I think it's working," I murmur. "She can feel tingling in her spine."

Carlisle smiles, but his concerns are not lessened; tingling might be all she ever feels. Her tail twitching, on the other hand, is a definite cause for celebration. We spare a moment to grin at each other. Carlisle checks the alignment of the vertebrae and muscles, then closes up the opening in her body, while I remove my gloves and then hold her tail to keep as much tension off her spine as possible.

Forgoing stitches, Carlisle simply holds the two sides of skin together until they knit back together. He smiles and strips off his gloves with practised ease, and then washes his hands.

"I wish treating all my patients were so instantly rewarding," he jokes.

I smile, appreciating the genuine joy Carlisle finds in helping people, and then I ask two questions on behalf of the pack. "Will you fix anything else tonight? Can she be moved?"

"No, best not to. I'd rather keep her as still as possible overnight, and then we can test how much feeling she has regained in the morning. We'll decide then whether she feels up to changing form, but regardless, I will start resetting the broken bones tomorrow."

Sam nods, and I speak his thanks.

"Best to let her rest now," Carlisle advises. "I'll stay with her all night and watch her. You're all welcome to stay, too. If you'd prefer a bed—"

"The ground is fine—they're happy to sleep in wolf form," I assure him, and he smiles.

Seth licks Leah's muzzle, and she thinks his name slowly, her mental voice slurred. He doesn't want to leave her, but he knows he ought to go home. Sam offers to call Sue on his behalf, but Seth shakes his head.

I _should call her_ , he says resolutely, before glancing at me. _Can I borrow your phone?_

Taking one hand off Leah's tail, I pull out my phone and enter in the number Seth gives me. The tail muscles tense briefly, then relax.

"The tingling has stopped," I tell Carlisle, "and she can still feel her tail."

"Good!" He takes over from me, feeling along the tail and growing more and more excited by the responsiveness of the muscles.

Seth uses his sister's tremendous progress to help calm him in preparation for the change, but even with the whole pack thinking with him, he struggles to shift back to his human form. His guilt is distracting him.

"She'll forgive you," I say.

He looks across at me, and the wave of sorrow and guilt and grief wells up inside him and engulfs us all. He doesn't think he deserves forgiveness. I know what that feels like. If I could cry, I would be bawling my eyes out, and the moistness of the wolves' eyes confirms they're in the same state.

There is no way he will manage to change now. While Sam tries to comfort Seth, and the others try to pull themselves together despite Seth's powerful emotions, I hit 'call' on my phone.

Emily answers on the fourth ring.

"Emily, it's Edward Cullen," I say, hoping she won't be alarmed; the wolves gratefully refocus on me.

" _Oh_ ," she replies, her tone a mix of surprise, confusion, and a pleasing amount of friendliness. _"Did you want to speak to—?"_

"It might be best if I explain to you first, and then Seth can talk to his mother."

 _"_ _Seth's with you?"_

"Yes. Seth and the rest of the pack—except—"

 _"_ _Of course. How are they?"_

"We had a bit of trouble with an intruder," I say, figuring she'll understand my meaning, but hoping the understatement will help ease the shock. "Leah was hurt. We brought her back to my house and Carlisle is treating her."

 _"_ _I see,"_ she murmurs, her voice strained with worry.

"He's hopeful she'll make a full recovery, but he wants to keep her here overnight. Some of the pack will stay with her—Seth and Sam are going to come home now."

 _"_ _Is that Leah?"_ I hear Sue ask in the background; her usually strong voice is lamentably shaky.

 _"_ _Uh, no, it's Sam,"_ Emily blurts; I wonder if anyone believes her.

 _"_ _Has he found them?"_ Billy asks.

 _"_ _Yes,"_ she tells him; then she asks me, _"Is Seth ready to speak to Sue yet?"_

"Not quite."

 _"_ I _can speak to him,"_ Sue says; the volume of her voice increases as she speaks—she is walking towards Emily.

 _"_ _Hang on,"_ Emily replies quickly, and I wonder if Sue is holding her hand out for the phone. _"Sam?"_ she asks, trying to sound casual though her desperation is clear.

I glance at Sam, but he is still mixed up in Seth's struggle for composure—thinking with him in an attempt to ease his transition has scattered his own concentration, compounding his own acute sense of guilt for tonight's disaster.

"He's trying to help Seth."

Emily doesn't reply; I hear the unmistakable sound of the handset passing from one hand to another.

 _"_ _Sam?"_ Sue asks.

"Not quite, ma'am," I reply politely, hoping she doesn't take it the wrong way. "He's here, though—and Seth and Leah."

 _"_ _Are they all right?"_ she asks sharply.

"We had a bit of trouble with an intruder," I say, getting straight to the point. She gasps, so I pause a moment before continuing. "Leah was injured, but Seth and I took care of the intruder, and Carlisle is treating Leah. She's healing well."

 _"_ _Where are you?"_

I hesitate, but Seth and Sam both agree I shouldn't lie. "At our house."

Sue doesn't answer for almost a minute; I hear her breath catch in her throat and then a series of deep breaths as she struggles to keep the tears at bay. Then she says, _"Can I speak to Seth, please?"_

"He can hear you," I tell her, hoping she will accept that; Seth plods up to my side, frustrated that he can't control himself enough to change back. "I can speak for him, too, if you don't mind."

 _"_ _He's okay?"_

"Aside from the guilt, yes."

She sighs, then she gives a tiny, half-stifled chuckle. _"Seth, baby,"_ she murmurs. _"It's not your fault."_

Seth puts his head by the phone and whines softly, hoping she can hear him.

"He's sorry he ran off."

 _"_ _I understand,"_ she says tenderly. _"It's a lot to cope with—let me help."_

The need to respond to his mother seems to focus his thoughts—he pictures himself in his human form, and then ten seconds later, his hand slams down on my shoulder and he staggers forward into me, then uses me for balance. The other wolves are still a little revolted by the thought of touching me, and Carlisle is momentarily surprised, but Seth is only apologetic for being so rude; he hadn't factored in the disorientation—and the massive increase in arm span. The 14-year-old boy hasn't returned; this is another body entirely. He had been shorter than me, but now he is an inch taller; his previously boyish features are now distinctly manly; and his physique, though somewhat lankier than his pack-brothers', is decidedly musclier.

"It's fine," I assure him, holding out my phone for him.

He takes it, but he is still unsteady, so he rests an arm on my shoulder and leans on me. "Mum," he says, and we are all thrown by the change in his voice—neither the changes in his body nor the slight shift in his mental voice, which I had ascribed to grief and the stress of the change (and the wolves hadn't given a thought), has prepared us for the profound deepening of his voice.

She gasps. _"Seth?"_

"Yeah. I'm so sorry."

 _"_ _It's okay. I love you."_

"Love you, too."

 _"_ _Are you coming home now?"_

"I can drive you home," I offer, speaking too softly for Sue to hear me; now that he's human again, he can't make his own way home so easily.

"Edward will drive me," he tells her, pleased to avoid a second transformation so quickly.

 _"_ _And Leah?"_

He twitches guiltily. "Carlisle doesn't want to move her tonight—Jared and Paul and Embry are gonna stay with her, and we'll bring her home in the morning."

Sue sighs. _"All right. Can I speak to her?"_

"She's resting," Seth mumbles.

"We'll tell her you're thinking of her," I say, raising my voice a little so that Sue will hear.

 _"_ _Thank you,"_ she murmurs. _"Will you bring my son home now?"_

"Yes, ma'am."

She sighs, then murmurs, _"See you soon."_

"See you soon," Seth replies.

She hangs up, so he passes the phone back to me, and then he pulls himself fully upright. He looks himself over, surprised at how much everything has grown—his forearms and hands feel like they belong to someone else and he feels unbalanced, despite the inbuilt sense of poise that comes with being a shape-shifter.

"Who am I?" he asks.

"You're a Quileute wolf," I tell him, incorporating a few thoughts from the pack into this one simple truth.

He looks at me, and then smiles. "Thank you," he says. Then he glances at the pack. "It's so _quiet_."

I chuckle. "Be grateful you can turn it off."

He grins at me, then takes a deep breath. "Are we going home, then?"

Sam rises up on his hind legs as he phases back, so that he finishes up standing comfortably on his human feet.

" _Show off_ ," Seth mutters.

To tease Seth, Sam jerks his chin in a gesture of smugness and authority; then he glances at the other pile of clothing. "Is that for us?"

I nod. He walks over and picks up the top pair of sweatpants. They are navy blue and I can smell that they are made of bamboo thread. Sam is surprised by how soft they are. _They're too expensive for us rowdy wolves_.

"Esme just wants you to be comfortable—she doesn't care about the expense, or how long they last."

Seth chuckles at that and accepts the pair Sam holds out for him. He pulls them on, grinning at how soft they are. "Please tell her thanks," he says. Then he realises he hasn't thanked Carlisle; he doesn't know what he can possibly say, but he doesn't let that stop him. He goes up to Carlisle and when Carlisle turns, he holds out his hand. "Thank you for helping us, sir," he says.

Carlisle shakes his hand. "You're very welcome," he says warmly. "It is my pleasure."

Seth nods, then turns to me; he feels more ready to go home now, although he still feels odd in this new body. My heart goes out to him—he has had to do a lot of growing up today. In triggering his supernatural heritage years earlier than usual, his father's death has forced him to grow up physically as well as emotionally, and I want to help him through it.

Sam is debating whether he can leave Seth and me to drive back while he runs back himself. Despite his trust in me, he can't in all good conscience leave Seth alone with me—he trusts me with his _own_ life, but is afraid to trust me with Seth's. But he still hasn't put on any pants.

"Run back," Seth tells him. "I'll look after Edward."

Sam rolls his eyes, but he only debates it for another moment, before tying the pants loosely around his waist. The other wolves aren't sure, but when Sam phases back, he reminds them of his memories of Seth's thoughts, watching me put my own life at risk to help Leah. Why would I hurt Seth after doing that?

I bid them goodnight, and then point Seth in the direction of the garage. "Volvo or Aston Martin?" I ask as we walk.

His eyes widen, then he laughs. _Aston Martin!_ His mental voice is already lowing further to match the change in his physical voice.

I smile and veer off to the one car still with a cover over it. My little black panther hasn't been used for over six months, but I know it will roar into life as it always does.

Seth slides himself into the passenger seat—it's low, but he has plenty of room, even for his long legs.

 _Lucky Sam didn't come!_ , he thinks, knowing we couldn't take this car with another person.

"Seatbelt," I tease as I turn the key. The engine growls, alert at once, and I smoothly accelerate out of the garage and onto the driveway.

He obeys—for his mother's sake. _Where's_ your _seatbelt?_

I laugh. I race along the roadway, pushing the limit to give him a thrill, and it's like I'm experiencing it for the first time all over again through him. He has never been in a car like this—never even _seen_ a car like this.

It is easy to forget he is only fourteen.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10: Brother**

There are no cars in the vicinity as we approach the end of our driveway, so I dare to keep our speed up as we burst onto the highway. The car fishtails a few times—I do it purposefully—and Seth whoops.

You're _the show-off!_

"I've missed this car."

 _Excuses_ , he teases.

"It's not showing off if I'm doing it for _your_ sake—this _isn't_ fun?"

He laughs. _It is_ very _fun._ _How old are_ you _?_

"Seventeen!"

 _Plus seventy_.

"Plus eighty-seven, actually," I admit.

He whistles. _Eighty-seven!_ Then he laughs. _You don't drive like a grandpa_.

"I don't _feel_ like a grandpa."

That piques his curiosity. _How old_ do _you feel?_

"Sometimes I feel like a _hundred_ and eighty-seven—and sometimes I feel like seventeen."

 _Complicated_.

"Yeah." I smile. "Apparently life is."

 _Even for the mega-rich?_

" _Especially_ for the mega-rich."

We both laugh at that.

 _If you ever want to trade in for a newer model, I'd be happy to take this one off your hands._

"I like _this_ model."

 _Buy_ me _a new one, then?_

"What would you do for me?"

He laughs, then quirks a brow. _What do you want?_

"Let me think about it," I reply, laughing at the quirky things he's picturing. My favourite is the offer of a one-off Seth Clearwater original sketch; he's actually very talented, although the particular sketch he has in mind is less about art and more about comedy—it's supposed to be me chowing down on a bear, and it's hilarious. But then he thinks about giving me a ride on his back, and I find myself strangely curious. "I've never ridden a horse," I tell him, signalling what idea most interests me.

 _Unlimited lifetime rides_ , he promises, augmenting the offer to bring it more in line with the purchase of a car.

I stare at him, amazed that he really means it. He doesn't think it would be demeaning _or_ dangerous, though he would be uniquely vulnerable—I am his friend, and he would simply be giving me a ride in much the same way that I am giving him a ride now.

He smiles at me; then he wonders if he's being rude. _You prefer_ this _or should I speak out loud? I don't mean to be lazy._

I shake my head. "It's nice," I say. "Your thoughts are smoother."

 _You_ like _my thoughts?_ , he teases.

"Yes," I agree. "I like _you_."

 _I like you, too_. Alongside his memories of me from last night, he thinks about the fun of taking down Riley together and what I did for Leah. _You risked your life for us_.

"I'm pretty sure my life wasn't in danger; I should have been able to lead him home to get backup."

 _Were you worried_ I _might attack you?_

"Yes," I agree. "But you quickly proved you wouldn't."

 _I saw your eyes—I knew you were different_. He pictures me with Bella last night. _I know how much you love her_.

"Thanks," I murmur.

 _Why?_

"For seeing past the monster—even when I'm killing her."

 _You're not_ killing _her_. He thinks of the pain I caused her when I left— _that_ had killed her—then hurriedly remembers her from last night: alive and happy. _She_ needs _you_.

" _I_ need _her_."

 _Good—that's how it should be_.

"It's not that simple."

 _It should be_. He thinks about the bizarre imprinting experience that might one day befall him. _It's like that for you, isn't it? You can't exist without her, and you thought she could exist without you because_ she _hadn't 'imprinted' on_ you _, but you're_ her _soulmate, too_.

"I see that now," I reply. "I just wish I had realised before I hurt her—" I wince.

He puts his hand on my shoulder. My coldness doesn't bother him in the slightest. _Sure, you fucked up big-time_ —I glance at him, amused by the impish thrill he feels at having cussed, because, right now, it _is_ as if he has spoken aloud— _but you were doing something impossible. It's easy to doubt_.

"When did you get so wise?" I tease, before giving him the serious answer he deserves. "I knew that once. Bella made me believe in the impossible."

 _And then you started doubting._

"How could _I_ ever deserve her?"

 _You're good—and she deserves you_.

"Not _Jacob_?"

Seth sighs. _I get why Jake likes her, but I don't think he's right for her. The others all think of her as the_ vampire _girl for a reason._ Then he thinks of another point. _I saw what he did yesterday—he hurt her_. _She deserves someone…_ He struggles to find the right word—but he is picturing me, and my absolute dedication to her, which reminds him of Sam's devotion to Emily (and the heartfelt entreaties he tendered Leah after his own heart betrayed him). _Wiser_ , he decides eventually. _Like her. Jake isn't ready to grow up, and she's already an immortal in spirit_.

I watch his memories of her bravery. He'd known something big was going on, but he'd had no idea she was being terrorised by a sadistic vampire. He is distracted by the comparison of Bella and his mother, the strongest woman he knows. Sue had come up with one home-based assignment after another—which he is now incredibly grateful for because it meant he'd spent much more time than usual with his father over the past week—but her especial sternness had motivated him to comply. He'd even stopped asking questions because he saw how unwillingly she told him even the most minor details (or so he had thought them at the time).

He shakes his head. _What's Mum gonna say when she sees me?_

I answer the real question in his mind. "She heard the change in your voice, and she's seen the changes in the pack—she'll be surprised, of course, but she won't think you're a stranger."

I _feel like a stranger._

"No, you don't—you just grew up fast." I touch his forearm. "You like your new body."

 _How do you figure that?_

I grin at him. "Your mental voice has changed."

He likes that—it helps him admit to himself that it's just shock.

"You're still you. You just did four or five years of growing in a matter of hours."

 _So am I fourteen or eighteen? Everyone will still treat me like a kid_.

"I know _all_ about that." He chuckles, liking that I really do understand it. "But unlike me, you _are_ fourteen. You might be a lot smarter than most fourteen-year-olds, but why not enjoy being a kid while you still can? Life is plenty complicated for _everyone_. You don't need to rush anything."

He ponders that for a minute. _And what if I meet my soulmate tomorrow?_

I shrug. "Then you worry about it tomorrow."

He likes that idea. _Worrying is for grownups._

I sigh. "I hate being a grownup."

 _You don't look very grownup right now_.

I grin and plant my foot a little harder—the car shoots forward and we are flying along the road, laughing and whooping. For three entire minutes, we let the moment be our focus and forget the rest of the world.

When the La Push signs flash past, I start to slow. Seth huffs out a breath, then breathes deeply. My scent still irritates his nose, but he dismisses it easily—and then he wonders how similar it is to the _burn_ I describe.

"Yes, it's similar—nowhere near as maddening, though. Although, after decades of living around humans, it's much easier to ignore."

 _Why bother? Why stop hunting the murderers and rapists?_

"Because I was losing myself to the monster."

 _Being good is so important to you?_

I smile, enjoying the respect underlying the question. "Yes. Although perhaps honouring Carlisle was slightly more important."

He understands that—it's easier to be good _for_ someone than to try to live up to some abstract concept of _good_. He has always tried harder at school for his mother's sake than his own belief in its usefulness.

"One night, I was hunting as usual," I say, wanting to explain myself more fully to him—to be as open with him as he is being with me—"and I heard the thoughts of a man who'd already found his victim. I pulled him off her, but when I went to leave with my… _dinner_ , I was distracted. She was bleeding, and I was _hunting_. I hesitated. I looked at her, and even though it was too dark for her to see my red eyes, she thought I was a demon. She was petrified. I realised in that moment that I was losing control. I looked at her, and even though I still saw a woman, the part of me that saw a fresh beating heart was stronger than I wanted to admit."

He is gratified by my efforts to explain—and surprisingly understanding. Although he's not an addict himself, he has seen some of the damage addiction can do, and a little of the desperation addicts feel when they're deprived of their substance of abuse, be it alcohol or cigarettes or something stronger.

I hear the sound of Charlie's cruiser almost half a minute before I'm able to discern his obscured thoughts. Fortunately, Charlie doesn't register that it's my car as he passes us by; he is too distracted by his grief. Seth is as relieved as I am that we stopped speeding when we reached La Push, but seeing Charlie sobers him as it reminds him that we're almost home.

As we pull up outside his house, I hear Billy thinking that he's glad Charlie isn't here anymore. My gentle parking didn't fool any of them; they heard the power behind the engine, so they know it's not an ordinary car.

Emily and Sue had explained the phone call as soon as Charlie left, so they all know it's me, and they know about Leah's injuries. Sue desperately wants to be with her daughter, but she knows she's still in no state to go anywhere, meaning she's especially glad to have her son back.

 _You coming in?_ , Seth asks me.

Despite the awkwardness that's sure to follow me through the door, I can't bring myself to disappoint him—and I know Bella is safe with Alice.

Seth sees my indecisiveness and "makes the decision" on my behalf. _You can help me tell them what happened_.

And then he climbs out of the car without waiting for an answer. I chuckle at his certainty, and then follow. I like that he sees me as moral support in this stressful moment.

Emily is already opening the door when Seth steps up to the porch. Her eyes widen as she sees him, and then her heart goes out to him—it is a lot to cope with all at once, and for one so young. I am impressed that she isn't the least bit afraid of him.

"Hey, Em," Seth says companionably, automatically using Sam's nickname for her; then, as he stands in front of her, looking down on her for the first time, and his hand automatically rises to brush her shoulder in greeting, he realises he's seeing her through the lens of Sam's eyes. "Uh, Emily," he corrects self-consciously, dropping his hand.

Emily flushes and steps aside to let him through. "Come in," she says to me, trying to smile, but the embarrassment makes her look away quickly—she knows I will have heard in her thoughts that she finds Seth attractive.

I thank her and smile to reassure her, but she isn't looking so she doesn't see it, though my kind tone helps a little.

Sue is already hugging Seth when we enter the lounge. Billy greets me in his thoughts, so I nod back in answer. Quil Ateara is alone in his disapproval of Seth being alone with me in the car.

"Where's Sam?" he asks gruffly.

"He's on his way," I reply. "He wanted to stay in contact with the pack." The fact that I can't hear his thoughts yet makes me realise just how quickly I've driven here; perhaps a little _too_ quickly.

Quil's eyes narrow, but the others—even Sue—aren't the least bit concerned by the fact that Sam let Seth go with me by himself.

Sue gives Seth one last squeeze, then kisses his cheek and pulls him down onto the couch with her. "Tell me what happened."

Seth glances at me. _You first?_

"You were there for the beginning," I point out as gently as I can, as I sit in one of the spare chairs, closest to the door and furthest from Quil.

He sighs, then nods. "After we phased," he says slowly, still gathering his thoughts, "we were suddenly in these huge, totally different bodies, and we could hear each other's thoughts, and it was…" He looks at me for a way to describe it.

"Disorienting," I suggest.

He chuckles. "Yeah. Disorienting. And _annoying_." He sighs. "We _really_ annoyed each other—and then Jared called Sam and suddenly there were three other minds in my head and Leah was… She couldn't cope with hearing Sam's thoughts—you know, that he—"

I can hear what he is going to say—that Sam still loves Leah, and although everyone in the room knows it, it shouldn't be spoken aloud—so I make a noise in my throat that is too low for human ears to pick up. Seth hears it and realises my meaning immediately.

"—that he loves Emily and feels bad for Leah," he corrects. The others know what he's leaving out, but at least they don't have to acknowledge it formally. "She screamed at him to go away and leave her alone, and all the horrible thoughts she's ever had just burst out of her, and it was awful. I felt so _angry_ —my _own_ anger on top of _her_ anger.

"So Sam left, and he asked Jared to leave, too, and I tried to calm down and phase back, but I couldn't. And Leah was running, and then I started running, too, and I didn't mean to leave the Reservation—like _she_ did—but it was incredible. When I was running, it was easier to ignore her, to just _feel_ and not think—to enjoy having four long legs." He gives Sue a rueful smile. "I'm sorry."

She strokes his arm. "I understand. You _should_ enjoy the wolf—it is part of you." She touches his chest, over his heart, and he places his hand atop hers. "I am proud of you."

"Thanks, Mum."

She smiles, then prompts him for the rest of his story.

"Without really thinking about it, I guess I started following her—veering in her direction—and then Sam came back to check on us. He saw how far away we were and he begged us to turn back—he really tried hard to focus his thoughts and not think about… other stuff, but Leah was just as awful as before. She started running even faster, like she was trying to outrun his thoughts, even though they were beaming directly into her brain. And then she caught the scent of a vampire, one Sam didn't recognise." He shakes his head, remembering Leah's momentary insanity. "She charged off after it, ignoring Sam, and she wouldn't listen to me, either. I felt the urge to hunt, just as she did, but she let it _consume_ her." He is distracted for a moment wondering if that is what the bloodlust is like for me; I nod when he looks at me, and he smiles, pleased to understand a little better.

The others wonder what he asked me, but soon forget as Seth goes on with his tale.

"I raced after her, and so did Sam—but Sam was too far away. Even I was too far, because the vampire stopped running long before I got there." He shudders, then abruptly looks across at me. "Your turn?" he pleads. He can't bring himself to describe the fight.

I nod and he visibly relaxes. Quil is irritated by this display of trust, but the others are more open to it. It surprises them, but they are willing to listen to me.

"I was at Bella's, and I heard a split-second thought from Sam that Leah was chasing a vampire on her own, and he'd never get there in time, so I ran after them. When I got close enough to hear their thoughts properly, I could see Leah chasing the vampire.

"He let her almost catch him before going on the attack, and she wasn't prepared for it. He was only a few months old and much too strong for her." Seth winces, anticipating what comes next; even so, he encourages me to provide all the grisly details. "He broke her leg first, and then her spine."

Sue and Emily gasp. Billy tenses, and I listen to his struggle not to let his own history distract him. Quil glares at me, blaming _me_ for the vampire's attack. Then I realise that Victoria created Riley as part of her vengeance against _me_ , so it really is my fault—and now I will have to admit it to Sue and the others, whose blame will actually mean something. But no, _James_ had been the one to begin this deadly contest; I feel like I can breathe again.

"She collapsed and he stomped on her front leg and then grabbed her head to hold her still, and asked about the redhead." Their eyes widen, but I don't give them a chance to speculate. "Victoria created him to help her get revenge on me for us killing her mate—the one who almost killed Bella last year," I say for emphasis. "When she didn't return this morning, he came looking for her."

"I was running as fast as I could," Seth says, backing me up. "I got there while he was still asking questions, and Sam and I were still trying to figure out what to do—but we knew if I did nothing, Leah would die. And then Edward showed up." He smiles so widely, he doesn't need to speak to explain how he'd felt in that moment.

I smile, too, and take up the story again. "I heard in the vampire's thoughts that she had lied to him, so I knew we couldn't reason with him. He thought she was trying to _defend_ herself from us," I say briefly, in answer to their questions. "He thought she loved him, and she'd told him the Cullen clan was particularly dangerous and that even their thoughts weren't safe, but she hadn't told him any more than that, so he was cautious but not overly careful with his thoughts."

 _Maybe he assumed you'd have to touch him_ , Seth thinks.

"Maybe," I say, unable to resist answering his thought. "I know of a vampire whose telepathic gift requires touch—but he lives in Italy, and almost never leaves his city."

 _Yuck. Italy's out, then_.

"I thought vampires didn't establish permanent residences," Billy says.

I regret raising the subject, but it's too late now; they all want answers. "His coven is the largest in the world, and it includes some the most gifted and sadistic vampires ever created. They enforce the one law all vampires must obey—the secret of our existence—and they punish any who risk our exposure."

"You've met them?" Quil asks.

"Not personally."

" _Oh?_ " he replies pointedly, questioning how I know so much about them.

"Carlisle visited them a century or so ago—he tried to show them the benefits of his chosen lifestyle and they tried to show him he was a fool. But even _they_ were impressed by him, so they respected him, despite mocking his compassion for humanity."

To get them back on track, I go on with my story. "I told the vampire that Victoria had told me about him—even though I heard no hint of his existence in her thoughts—and that she hadn't returned home because she was negotiating a treaty with our leader. He doubted it, but it made him rethink his actions."

I can hear Sam's thoughts now, which is brilliant because I can hear Jared and Paul, too (Embry is asleep), and through them, I can see Carlisle diligently monitoring his drowsing patient. And then I hear in Sam's thoughts that he avoids being in wolf form around Emily. Jared and Paul already knew this, but they are still sympathetic, too, and they pity his dilemma tonight. He doesn't want to lose the connection with his pack, but he is ashamed to expose Emily to the wolf that hurt her. I wonder how long it will take before he gets over his guilt—and then I realise the question applies to me, too, and I remember thinking I will have to forgive myself for Bella's sake.

"Edward warned him not to kill her, " Seth speaks up, taking up where I've left off, "so he released Leah's head, and then Edward pushed him away from her—but he grabbed Edward and threw him fifty yards through the trees like he weighed _nothing_."

"He was many times stronger than I," I agree. "A straight fight would've been risky—even two against one—so I told him I killed Victoria to make him angry, and he was so enraged, he forgot all about the wolves, and I was able to stay one step ahead until Seth was in position."

"Edward led him away from Leah, then herded him back towards me, and I ripped his arm off! Then Edward used the arm to wrench off his head, while I tore off his other arm so he couldn't fight back." Seth grins at me. "And then, when it was all over, Sam _finally_ arrived." _Where is now?_ , he adds silently, not thinking that Emily is asking the same question, and the others are beginning to wonder.

"He's almost here," I say.

" _Ugh_ , so he won't get here till _after_ we finish the story—what a _slacker_ ," Seth jokes.

"He ran hard to get there," I remind him. "He was almost fourteen miles away, but he got there in less than eight minutes."

"Still would've been too late if you weren't there," Seth says, speaking aloud so the others are as clear on this truth as he is.

Sue nods in agreement. "Thank you," she says to me, her eyes filling with tears. "I don't know how we'll ever repay you."

"You don't owe me anything," I assure her. "I wanted to help Leah."

"We will be eternally grateful," Billy tells me.

"I'm just glad I could help. Even though I didn't start the feud with Victoria, you've been caught up in her efforts to get to _me_ , and _I_ will be eternally grateful for the protection you gave Bella."

"Does she know what happened?" Emily asks.

I nod. "I had to leave her alone briefly, but I called Alice on the way, so she was able to give Bella a bit more explanation, and Carlisle called Alice after I told him about Leah, so they knew about that."

" _You_ didn't call?" Emily teases.

"I called before I came here," I reply, smiling to acknowledge the lapse. "There wasn't time aside from that—I burned Riley's body and then I called Carlisle about Leah's injuries, and Sam and I tried to make her as comfortable as possible while we waited for Jared, Paul, and Embry. Then we carried her back to my house."

"In wolf form?" Billy asks.

Seth and I nod; then Seth adds, "Embry and I cleared a path through the trees while the other four carried her in their arms."

Sue doesn't think that makes sense. Wouldn't it have been _much_ easier to carry her in human form?

"We were worried her back legs might not change back," I say. "But Carlisle managed to reconnect her spine, and she can feel her tail and twitch her back foot, so he thinks it should be safe for her to try changing back in the morning."

"It looked really complicated," Seth says. "Her body had already started healing, but her spine was still in two pieces. But Carlisle and Edward fixed it—Carlisle set up a whole hospital room in a tent outside the house—and a few minutes later, she could hold her tail up."

Sue sniffles; she feels guilty for the efforts they made to have Carlisle fired from the hospital.

"Carlisle is happy to help," I say. "As far as he's concerned, he's her doctor anyway."

She smiles at me. "We will make sure to thank him in person, but please pass on our gratitude." I like that she uses the word 'person' without even noticing she applied it to a vampire—as Quil does.

"Of course."

Sam trots near-silently into the backyard, but Seth gives him away before he's quite ready to come inside, so he phases reluctantly, then comes in by the back door.

When he walks into the lounge wearing the sweatpants Esme supplied, Seth waggles an eyebrow. " _Sexy_."

Sam makes a face at him, then opens his arms for Emily, who is keen to bury her face in his shoulder, even though he's slightly sweaty from the run, because seeing him in the same pants as Seth isn't helping her forget her mildly inappropriate reaction to the new, grownup Seth.

"Enjoy your run?" Seth teases. "We certainly enjoyed _our_ transportation."

Sam saw the car on his way in. "Extravagant," he grumbles. He is mildly curious, but doesn't like the idea of being in such a confined space—he still fears being so close to anyone lest he lose his temper. And even though he doubts he could hurt _me_ (or Seth), and he trusts me, he is still impressed that Seth can stand to be so close to me—even though he has heard Seth's thoughts and ought to realise that Seth doesn't see it that way. To him, my being a vampire is almost irrelevant; I am a good man and a friend.

"Edward said he'll let me drive it when I get my licence," Seth brags, teasing me _and_ Sam at the same time—he is one clever 14-year-old!

I can't help but laugh. "I did not!"

"You didn't disagree when I thought it."

"So you expect driving lessons as well, do you?" I tease, referring to another thought he'd had.

He grins. "Would you?" _If you want to_.

"All right," I agree, grinning back, "although Bella would say I'll be a bad influence—she thinks I drive too fast."

Seth roars with laughter. "How fast have you taken her?"

"Barely a hundred," I reply, remembering her misplaced horror with fond amusement.

He chuckles, but wisely doesn't comment further; Sue is starting to frown. "But _I'll_ be driving," he says, mostly to her.

"True," I agree. "And Bella could always come along to referee."

"She can't fit—"

"You're not learning to drive in my Vanquish."

He pouts in jest, before realising that my other car is also pretty flash. "But the Volvo's okay?"

"Sure."

"When did you learn to drive?" Billy asks, torn between curiosity, a little revulsion, and the genuine question of how much I can actually assist Seth with the modern licencing process.

"I went through the training course and got my licence legally last year."

 _How long have you been driving?_ , Seth asks. _How many times have you sat the tests?_

"I was human when I first learnt to drive," I say, "although I don't really remember it."

"You don't remember your human life?" Sue asks, and most of the others' thoughts echo that question to some extent; Seth, however, is wondering if I think of myself as not being human now. He wonders if I feel like a vampire, even though I have rejected the vampire way of life—and then he realises he doesn't know if _he_ still feels human. I give him a half smile and a small shrug to say that life is complicated, and he gets it.

To answer Sue's question, I say, "After the change, if you don't think about your human memories, they are hazy and soon fade. But my memories were always faint, because I was sick for over a week and Carlisle waited until I was practically dead before he changed me." My thoughts turn wistful and I find myself saying, "If I didn't have Carlisle's thoughts, I would struggle to recall my parents' faces." But I quickly shake myself, and add, "But Carlisle and Esme are my parents now, and I love them very much."

"Carlisle knew your parents?" she asks.

"From the hospital. They died from the same illness I had—my father first, within a day of being admitted. My mother and I held out a bit longer. If she hadn't been so focused on _my_ failing health, she might've recovered."

Sue understands that—she would have thrown herself in front of Riley if she'd been there, giving her life to distract him for two seconds. I decide to tell her the full story, wondering how she'll take it. Will she understand me a little better? And Carlisle?

"Before my mother died, she asked Carlisle to save me—in the way only _he_ could—like she knew he could give me a second life."

She ponders that, trying to understand a mother who would entrust her son to a monster (even an apparently kind one like Carlisle)—but all the while conscious of my ability to hear her thoughts.

"Please, don't feel self-conscious," I entreat her. "Your thoughts are your own—I'm sorry for the lack of privacy—"

She waves me to silence. "If you could not hear our thoughts, you would not have heard our danger tonight. I don't wish to offend you with my thoughts."

I smile, appreciating the sentiment. "I understand," I assure her. "I appreciate your concern, and I'm not offended. In any case, I know the difference between a considered idea and a fleeting thought—and I assure you, I feel exactly the same way about the majority of our kind."

"The _majority_ ," Quil scoffs. "I bet you count some of those murdering demons as _friends_ , don't you?"

I don't know how to answer that—we have over two dozen acquaintances who consider us friends, despite our 'quirky' lifestyle, but our distaste at _their_ lifestyle means our relationship is somewhat precarious. "The seven of us can't take on all the vampires in the world. _We_ have to live with them, too."

The others understand my meaning, although the thought of being friendly with murderers is justifiably distasteful, but Quil refuses to acknowledge that it excuses leniency on our part. Some vampires are more humane in their approach to taking lives than others, but I know that that distinction will be difficult for them to appreciate; it is even difficult for us at times. Until Jasper had joined us, none of us had had any real understanding of what it meant to be a vampire. Even I, who had murdered hundreds of men, had had no concept of what it's like to take an innocent life by choice.

Seth sees my sadness and wonders at its cause; is it the thought of innocent lives generally… or something—someone—in particular? Bella, or someone else? Emily is wondering something similar. Sam, Sue, and Billy are distracted by their own pain at all the victims of vampire attacks around the world.

"If you respected human life the way you _say_ you do," Quil observes irritably, "you would do your duty—"

" _Hush_ , Quil," Sue admonishes. "He _did_. Tonight, he saved our children. He saved _us_."

" _They_ brought the vampires here, and he's planning to make another one—"

His thoughts go too far. "Bella is a _wonderful_ person," I snap. "She won't lose who she is. She will _never_ become a murderer."

" _Never_ is a long time."

"But I don't doubt her," I reply, and with that, the certainty settles into my bones. If she believes in her life with me, _I_ believe in it, too.

Seth sees the conviction in my face, and he smiles. He believes in Bella, too.

"And neither do I," Sue says. She stands up and walks towards me. "Bella will be wondering where you are," she adds, switching subjects.

I stand up; I hear in her thoughts what she wants to do, but I also hear the conflict, the fear. "Mrs Clearwater," I say, holding out my hand.

She smiles gratefully and takes my hand my both of hers. "Please, call me Sue."

Seth chuckles, glad his mother sees me as a friend but recognising her remaining nerves. He stands up and pats her on the shoulder as he steps past her and wraps his arms around me. Everyone shivers a little, especially Sue, who now knows how cold my skin is, but Seth isn't bothered. He thinks he's hot enough for the both of us. I can't help chuckling at that. I place a hand on his shoulder.

"Thank you, Edward," he says. _Brother_.

"You're welcome," I reply, then murmur, " _brother_ ," so only he (and Sam) can hear.

He pulls back and grins. "Tell Bella _I_ ripped him apart."

"I will tell her the _truth_ ," I tease. "In as little detail as possible."

He chuckles. _Tell her the_ whole _truth—she can handle it_.

I nod. I don't want to underestimate her again. And I miss her. As reluctant as I am to share with her the details of tonight's fight, because I know it will shock her, I want nothing more than to have _her_ in my arms. I say my goodbyes, ignoring Quil's resentment.

"It has been a hard day," Sue murmurs, "but you have made it easier."

"I'm glad to have helped," I reply. Then, though I'm not sure if it might seem less than sincere coming from me, I say, "My condolences for your loss."

She appreciates the sentiment and murmurs her thanks, then leaves Seth to walk me out. It isn't until I step outside that I remember the car. I will have to drop it home before I make my way to Bella's.

Seth sees me staring at the car and realises what the problem is. _You could leave it_ here _…_

"You can't drive it yet," I remind him. Then I sigh. "Alice would usually drive it home for me, but I don't think I can ask that of her tonight."

 _I doubt they'd let her pick it up_ , he teases.

"I would drive it off the Reservation."

 _Can I come?_

"Now?"

 _Yeah. I could see Leah again_. He's thinking of phasing again and either staying with Leah or running home.

"You shouldn't be by yourself, and Leah has the pack—your mum needs you tonight."

He sighs, then nods. _And Leah'd probably rather not hear my thoughts_.

I shrug; I would certainly rather not know the inner secrets of _my_ siblings. "We can go for a ride again sometime soon," I promise.

 _This week?_

"Sure."

He smiles, then recalls his offer to be my equine substitute. _Let me know when_ you _want a ride_.

"I will. I look forward to it."

 _Me, too—just don't mention it to the pack, okay?_

I lean closer to him so that Sam can't hear me and get suspicious. " _I_ won't."

 _I can avoid thinking about it_ , he insists.

"It'll be good practice," I murmur.

 _Yeah, for when I have an actual secret_.

I nod. "Alice has got pretty good at it—although she usually can't hide that she's keeping _something_ from me."

He is very amused; then he wonders if any of my family resent my gift—the way Leah does.

"Just Rosalie. Personally, I'd rather not know my family's every thought and feeling…"

 _But you can't imagine_ not _hearing their thoughts?_

"I _hate_ not being able to hear Bella's."

He laughs. _It fits with who she is. And reading minds fits with who_ you _are._ He thinks about my admission that I covet Bella's thoughts, so I _like_ being a know-it-all, despite the immense self-control it must require to endure innumerable external thoughts and emotions being streamed directly into my brain day in, day out. And then he thinks about my willingness to give myself over to Carlisle's control, and the fact that I needed every ounce of that self-control to keep from killing Bella myself. So I am exactly what I needed to be, and so is she.

"Again, how'd you get so wise?" I joke.

 _What can I say?_ He shrugs. _I'm awesome_.

"You are," I agree, stoking his ego. "Thanks for your help tonight—I couldn't have done it half so easily without you."

 _Make sure you tell Bella_.

"I will tell _all_ my family."

 _Good_.

I slide into the driver's seat and start the engine, then lower the window to give him a nod.

 _See you tomorrow_.

"See you tomorrow," I reply, already looking forward to it.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11: Intermediary**

Alice doesn't open the window until I am right outside, but Bella more than makes up for the frosty welcome, throwing her arms around my neck and pressing her warm body against my cold one. I hug her back for a moment, stopping when my coldness makes her shiver (it's more like residual anxiety, but I can't ignore it).

I think about wrapping her in the blanket off her bed—our usual procedure—but when Alice sees my plan, she gets it first.

It is only now, when she is careful to avoid certain thoughts, that I realise leaving her alone with Bella was less than ideal. _Why hadn't I called Esme?_

Alice frowns at me, guessing my thoughts, and then she makes me recount the evening in the minutest detail, while I agonise over her guarded thoughts. The calm I felt around Seth drains away and all my little anxieties return.

Focusing on Bella helps me get through it. She is sad for Seth, and worried for Leah, but very happy that Seth and I have hit it off. I do my best to keep her mind off the one pack member who missed all the excitement tonight, but I can't know how successful I am. Her sighs and thoughtful silences could just as easily be for Leah. But they still haunt me.

I wait until Alice leaves to ask about _their_ evening. Bella's caginess scares me, but she quickly distracts me with kisses. I want to ask what she discussed—or planned—with my sister, before deciding I don't want to know. I want to be 17 and enjoy life. _Worrying is for grownups_ , I repeat to myself, quoting Seth.

When it finally gets too late to ignore and Bella settles down to sleep, I try to prepare myself for what she will say this time, even as I indulge in evaluating our college options. I let myself hope that Bella will enjoy college; that she might even decide the years don't weigh as heavily on her as she thinks they will.

This time, the first word she utters is my name. But Jacob's isn't far behind, and then she tells him she's worried about him. She is pleading with him to come home, her hands clenching and unclenching in my shirt, when she suddenly cries out and jerks awake.

"Bella," I murmur, stroking the hair out of her face.

She gasps for breath for a moment, then buries her face in my neck. " _Edward_ ," she murmurs.

"Bad dream?" I ask gently.

"Yeah," she mumbles. "It's nothing—I'm just tired."

"Then sleep," I reply, quelling the need to ask her about the dream. "Nothing can harm you."

She falls asleep again in less than a minute, leaving me to wonder what had terrified her. Is she afraid that a vampire will kill Jacob before he comes home, or that he and I will fight?

Whatever the cause of her panic, she seems to sleep peacefully for the rest of the night. It is only when she wakes that her body tenses up again. I don't believe her when she says she can't remember the subject of the bad dream.

Charlie is still asleep, but she decides to get up already; she is as keen as I am to see how Leah is doing this morning. She eats quickly and has a quick wash before dressing in a mix of her usual plain style with a bit of flair—ordinary brown trousers coupled with a pretty green shirt.

I exit via the window because Charlie is eating breakfast by the time Bella is ready to leave. She stops by the kitchen to wish him a good day and then tells him she's spending the day with Alice and me. The mention of Alice eases his displeasure, but he is still irritated by her miraculous transformation.

"What about _Jake_?" he asks. "You gonna just forget him now?"

"Of course not," she replies, her voice tense. I try as hard as I can to catch her expression from Charlie's thoughts, but as always, I can't see _any_ of what he is seeing. "But he's gone to visit Rachel, remember?"

This is the first I've heard of the excuse, and I'm intrigued that Billy told Charlie about Jake's departure _before_ we returned from hunting Victoria. Charlie sighs and I feel a burst of frustration; he knows he's being lied to (by omission). But he doesn't say anything, and I think it's because he feels that, as strongly as he feels about it all, it's not his business.

Bella says goodbye, then heads outside. She climbs in the truck and starts the engine via the key I have already placed there without the slightest hesitation. I like that it is as if I never left, although it also reminds me how pointless my efforts were. Our lives were already irrevocably entwined.

"I love you," I say, focusing on the positive.

She glances at me, her lips curving into a smile. "I'm driving," she teases.

"I'll save the truck if you get distracted," I promise, teasing her in return.

"I thought you hated it."

"I did—until it led me to you."

That surprises her. "That's how you found me?"

"I went to the beach first, then I was heading into town—" why make her think of Jacob unnecessarily?—"when I smelt the truck."

She smiles at that. "I assumed you tracked me through the others' thoughts, but that sounds much easier."

I feel the need to disagree—there was nothing _easy_ about violating the treaty because I feared she had been murdered—but I don't want to spoil her smile, so I simply smile back.

"Did you call your mother last night?" I ask, remembering what Bella promised Charlie.

She sighs, then shakes her head, and I feel bad for bringing up a sensitive topic. "It got too late…"

"I'm sorry."

"It wasn't _your_ fault!" Her fingers tighten on the steering wheel. "I'll call this morning."

"Do you know what you'll say?"

"Alice and I discussed a few things," she replies, and I wonder what she doesn't want to tell me. "Have you heard how Jasper and Emmett got on in Seattle?" she asks, changing the subject.

"No."

She glances at me. "Are you worried?"

"No." Then I realise that's not the whole truth. "I'm anxious to find out what happened, but Alice or Esme would've called if anything had gone wrong."

She nods in agreement. "Will you need to hunt today?"

"Maybe," I concede, as much as I don't want to leave her, even while she sleeps; my eyes are considerably blacker than they would normally be two days after my last hunt. "I'll decide later."

She doesn't say anything, simply nods, so I find myself debating our former hunting schedule. Regularly letting ourselves get so low doesn't seem like such a good idea when we could find ourselves facing a serious threat at a moment's notice—even with Alice's gift. As long as Bella remains human, we need to be more alert for threats.

When we arrive at home, Leah is human again. For my information, Carlisle remembers the transformation—it was gruelling, but as successful as we could've hoped for. It helped Carlisle repair a number of damaged ligaments and muscles, and Leah, interestingly, feels less vulnerable in this form. The condition of her broken leg has also improved, but her left arm is a mess. The elbow bends the wrong way, and her forearm is a mass of fused bone.

Carlisle calls me in to assist him, so I lead Bella straight into the tent. Jared, Paul, and Embry are variously standing, sitting, and lying around, taking up most of the spare floor space, so we have to pick our way past them.

Bella smiles at them and I reply to their casual greetings. They tell me they slept well enough, but underneath that, they're looking forward to going home. And Leah can't wait to leave. She is sitting up, propped up against pillows, with her damaged arm resting on a makeshift platform.

Sue and Seth are expected at any moment, so Carlisle is trying to figure out how to repair and set her arm as quickly as possible.

"Good morning," Carlisle says, sparing a moment to welcome us.

"Good morning," Bella replies, smiling at Carlisle and Leah, though Leah's expression gives her pause. "Shall I wait outside?" she asks considerately.

Leah's thoughts are surprisingly familiar—her anger matches Rosalie's—but she at least she doesn't reply and assault Bella with her nastiness. I don't want to exclude Bella, so I read between the lines and dare to tell her that she could sit on the chair beside Embry.

Leah glares at me but doesn't contradict my suggestion, so Bella sits down, while I wash my hands and don gloves in readiness for assisting Carlisle.

Leah's rapid healing has worked against her in her arm, but Carlisle is excited by the changes effected by the transformation. He thinks that we can repair the arm enough so that when she next phases, the wolf bones will form as they should. To achieve that, however, we need to identify the bones and restore them to their original locations. No easy task, not for us and certainly not for Leah.

Carlisle ups the morphine level again, and Leah's thoughts start to wander as it begins to take effect. I find the bitter invectives she directs at me amusing, and I don't mind in the slightest—the thoughts help her distract herself from the surgery we are about to perform.

Though the lack of a sterile environment has been concerning Carlisle since he took Esme's excellent advice and relocated the surgery from our kitchen to this canvas tent, I know it is the only reason Leah is still here, allowing us to help her. She absolutely couldn't have coped with an enclosed room, and the wolves love the tent so much that the unsterile conditions haven't entered their heads.

Before Carlisle starts the surgery, he explains what he's going to do. I give Bella a wry smile; she isn't going to want to hang around when we start cutting Leah open. She listens to half of the explanation before discreetly fleeing the tent.

Once Leah is mentally prepared for the surgery ahead, Carlisle makes a long, deep cut from one side of her elbow to the other, expertly separating skin and muscle from the mess of bone, and then I help him cut away the excess bone. We work as quickly as we can to reshape her bones, trying to stay ahead of her body's rapid healing.

As we work, I find myself listening for Seth's thoughts. When I realise how much I'm looking forward to seeing him again, I feel more than a little nervous. What if he feels differently in the morning?

Seven minutes later, Seth allays my fears. He isn't merely looking forward to seeing me, too, he is actively calling my name every so often, then thinking a number, so I can tell him when I started to hear him. He's up to 24 when I first hear him, which means he's been doing it for a while.

He is sitting in the back seat, leaning over the back of the front passenger seat trying to goad his mother into putting her foot down a little harder. I can hear her laughing as she refuses him, but her thoughts are barely perceptible. It makes me glad that I can hear Seth's thoughts so clearly. His cheerfulness fills my heart with youthful enthusiasm.

Carlisle sees me grinning and smiles; he can't guess what has made me so happy, but he naturally assumes that it's something I'm hearing. Then, when he hears the car pull onto our driveway, he wonders if it's Seth's thoughts I'm reacting to. He likes the boy, and he's excited by the thought of our formal treaty with the Quileutes evolving into a true alliance.

The wolves soon pick up the familiar sound of Sue's car, and they all stand up expectantly. Leah's thoughts change from a languid stream of curses against me, Sam, Emily (her cousin and former best friend), her father's bad heart, and her unwanted genes to a laboured attempt at constructing an apology for her beloved, grief-stricken mother. I am intrigued by her unfamiliarity with this; she isn't used to apologising, and feeling guilt is new, too. The number of similarities I see between Leah and Rosalie keeps growing—until Rosalie was brutally murdered, her life had seemed perfect; until Sam had abruptly forsaken her, Leah had apparently had a similarly smooth existence.

We have plenty of time to finish up before they arrive. While I make a few stitches down the length of the cut to help the skin heal smoothly, Carlisle adjusts the morphine dosage. I let him know when Leah's pain sharpens, so he has a good idea of the level she needs to maintain comfort without making her drowsy.

Sue follows Bella's encouragement to pull up right alongside the tent, as her thoughts give way to the worry and panic she had been managing to control. Seth sees her distress and pats her arm; she grabs his hand, but that means they can't get out of the car.

Leah doesn't need to hear her mother's racing heart to feel a painful surge of remorse. I sympathise with her guilt, but I can't help but be amused when she stares at me and _orders_ me to go get her.

Seth grins at me the moment I step into view and I give him an answering grin, before focusing on Sue. She fumbles with the door handle, so I open the door from the outside, moving slowly so as not to alarm her. "Leah's awake," I say to reassure her.

She reaches out, so I hold out my hand, and I'm touched when she not only accepts the offer of support but clutches it gratefully. Seth tugs his hand gently from hers and then gets out. He slaps a hand on my shoulder, but when I go to step aside for him, mother and son both dismiss the offer. Sue doesn't release my hand until she feels steady on her feet, and then she takes a deep breath before entering the tent.

Leah's condition is much better than she'd expected, and she is immediately relieved. She wants to hug her, but hesitates lest it hurt her. Leah would rather postpone the awkwardness a little longer, so she holds out her good arm. Sue eagerly accepts the hug, but she is still careful not to put any pressure on her. I am a little surprised that she isn't more sure of the wolves' ability to heal, but then I realise she won't know about the wounds the wolves have inflicted upon each other, so she has no idea how well it actually works.

When she pulls back, she says, "You don't look so bad."

Leah gives her a small smile. "Good genes," she mumbles, making a joke out of her _bad_ genes (in her opinion).

But Sue appreciates it—as does Seth, who knows how Leah really feels about her genes—and she smiles back before turning to Carlisle. "Thank you," she murmurs, holding out her hand for him.

"You are very welcome, Mrs Clearwater," he replies, taking her hand briefly.

She sighs, regret for her past opinion of this incredible man twisting her thoughts with guilt. "We have been so rude to you and your family, and you have shown us only kindness."

"Not at all," Carlisle insists gently. "You accepted us as your neighbours, despite our differences—we will never forget _your_ kindness."

She smiles at that, touched by his earnestness, and then Carlisle shifts the conversation back to Leah.

The news that her injuries are all healing extremely well is welcome to all of us. When he goes into more detail about certain aspects of her recovery, Seth starts thinking about phasing. Embry guesses the reason for his distraction and tries to encourage him without words, but Seth is thinking about his mother this time, so he checks with me before making up his mind. I shake my head, so he shrugs at Embry and goes to stand by his mother.

Bella takes his place by my side, threading her fingers through mine as she peeks around me to see further into the tent.

While Carlisle discusses the next stages of the healing process with Sue (who, as a nurse, is able to contribute to the conversation), Leah struggles with the shock of just how much Seth has changed. Her own body, in contrast, is much the same as it was (injuries aside). I want to point out that she is older and therefore her body had less 'growing up' to do, but I know she won't appreciate it. And she is so convinced that there is something wrong with her that she'd disregard it anyway.

When Carlisle and Sue run out of things to discuss, Leah decides to get the guilt off her chest before she's trapped in the car with her. She apologises for the stupid risk she'd taken; as she speaks, she knows that Seth and I saved her life, but she doesn't want to thank either of us let alone recognise that fact. She thinks Seth's gratitude, which makes her want to vomit, is more than I deserve and exonerates her hardheartedness—for me _and_ for Seth, because he is obviously blissfully happy with his wolfishness and his new friends.

I like seeing her outside perspective on the importance of our friendship—because as much as I feel I already understand Seth, she knows him that much better—but the way _Sue_ views our growing bond is deeply satisfying. She thinks that I haven't simply saved him from losing his sister, I've also given him the priceless gift of an unexpected and worthwhile friendship. And she likes that I am older than my seventeen years, because Seth needs a wise head right now—although she spares a thought to oppose my "speed demon" ways.

While Leah gets out of bed and Sue goes to get her the change of clothes she brought, Seth grabs my arm and drags me aside to answer his questions. I don't let go of Bella's hand, so she is drawn along with us; she squeezes my hand, a question in her eyes, so I smile and say, "Seth just has some questions about the range of my ability."

Seth grins at her and she smiles back, reassured.

"Twenty-four," I tell him.

" _Twenty-four!_ " he exclaims, appalled. _I expected better_ , he teases.

"You were over three miles away when I first heard you."

 _Slacker_ , he replies, rejecting the 'pathetic' excuse. Then—for Bella's sake—he says, "I expected better."

" _Obviously_ ," I retort, replying to his teasing in kind. "When did you start counting—before you left home?"

He laughs. "Of course not." He thinks about where they were when he came up with the plan, and then the first time he began the count.

" _Five_ miles?" I object.

 _Why not?_ , he asks, shrugging.

"I've never tried to expand my range," I muse. "Maybe I _should_ practise…"

Seth nods; he thinks it's a good idea and offers his mind for practice. Carlisle thinks my name to ensure I'm listening and then tells me that he agrees and makes the same offer.

"You've never tried?" Bella asks curiously.

I shrug. "I only recently started deliberately listening to thoughts in detail, and I'm usually well within a mile of my target—or focusing on a familiar mind."

"Alice's?"

I nod. Alice's thoughts are the only ones I've always deliberately listened to on a regular basis.

 _The psychic?_ , Seth asks, wondering if he's remembering correctly.

"Yes. Listening to her thoughts is basically the same as having a conversation with her."

He chuckles, trying to picture her vision of my reply to her thoughts and then my reply to her _answering_ thoughts—and so on. He shakes his head. "I'm good with just the wolf thing," he teases.

"It fits with who you are," I reply, quoting him.

He laughs. "Awesome?"

Bella chuckles at that, too, while the wolves snort in disgust. But they like him, too, which lessens the _irritation_ of his seemingly perpetually cheerful nature.

When we don't disagree, he grins. He doesn't want to leave with his mother and sister, but he knows he should. That makes him think about Bella's dad. He asks me if we have any plans tonight, thinking about Charlie, Bella, and me coming round for dinner. I think it's a good idea, but I wish I could offer to cook and take the burden off Sue. (That wish makes me realise I have ignored a vital skill I'll need when Bella and I are living together!)

Leaving me to raise the idea with Bella later, Seth asks instead, "How's Charlie coping with you being back?"

"He certainly isn't happy about it," I reply.

 _How many times has he thought about shooting you?_ , he jokes.

"I don't know exactly what he's thinking," I say, answering him indirectly.

That intrigues him and the other wolves, who joined us after being kicked out of the tent so Leah can change, so I give a brief description of the broad sense of emotion and focus that is all I can detect from Bella's father. Bella purses her lips, presumably not enjoying the reminder that her brain works even more strangely than that.

To change the subject, I decide to remind Seth of a question he asked me last night (even though it might be a touchy subject right now). "Last night, you asked if I feel like a vampire." Seth grins, eager for the full explanation, and the others aren't disgusted, which is encouraging. "I'd have to say it depends on the situation—when I'm _hunting_ , yes, of course, but otherwise, it's a lot more complicated."

What's complicated? Paul asks. You're dead all the time.

I shrug. "I barely remember my life before the change. I don't remember what it feels like to be human. I only know what it feels like for other people."

Seth wonders how different they, as wolves, feel to me—compared to ordinary people—and it helps me to realise that the wolves are in a similar situation. "Do you feel like a wolf when you're in _human_ form?" I ask them.

"I don't know if feel like a wolf in _wolf_ form," Seth jokes, speaking aloud for the others' sakes.

We laugh together, both thinking about the intense experience of last night—and his sense of awkwardness in his new, grownup body.

"Your mind sounds the same," I tease, though I mean it as a compliment, because his mind is certainly more developed than it was the first night we met, and considerably more advanced than an ordinary human's mind.

Bella looks thoughtful; then she asks, "There's no… indicator in their thoughts?"

" _Indicator?_ " I query, not entirely sure what she means.

"In human form, they sound… _normal_?"

"Oh," I say, understanding. "No, not at all."

The wolves snort at that, not sure if I'm insulting them or not, but Seth is purely curious. "How?" he asks.

"Your thinking is much more complex, and faster. Your memories are sharper, too—not quite perfect, but close."

He tries to remember how he used to think before the change, but can't. "Did I sound different before I changed?" he asks, figuring I'm best placed to solve the mystery.

"No. Your mind changed, too."

"There wasn't any… hint?"

"For you, no, but I wouldn't rule it out for anyone whose change was more gradual."

 _You could be our early warning system_ , Seth teases, picturing me cruising the town listening to the neighbourhood kids.

I can't help but laugh. "We wouldn't need to be so unfocused," I remind him.

Embry _shouldn't have phased_ , Seth reminds me, so I dip my head to acknowledge his point.

The others want to know what we're talking about, but I don't feel like sharing, so I segue back to our previous topic. "Most human minds are boring, so until you came along, only my family's minds held any real interest for me—" I can't help glancing at Bella: _her_ mind is intensely interesting to me, but she's blushing so I don't say anything to put the attention back on her—"because the minds of other vampires are generally not pleasant places, and I try not to invade my family's privacy any more than I do unconsciously."

 _You_ try _not to listen?_ , Jared asks, wondering how successful I am in that, especially when I seem so keen to know _Bella's_ thoughts; meanwhile, Seth asks, "Are there any other vampires like you?"

I can't help but smile at Jared's thoughts; I answer him first. "I've become very good at tuning out thoughts," I reply, "but that doesn't mean I don't hear things anyway, or don't _want_ to." Seth guesses my meaning, and Bella's blush deepens, so I figure she has, too. I almost add that I'd be lost without my ability, but I catch myself before I upset Bella any further.

"We know of one other family who lives as we do," I say instead, answering Seth. "We call ourselves vegetarians," I add, hoping he'll enjoy the joke.

He does. He thinks it's hilarious—and utterly appropriate. As an honorary carnivore, he can't imagine giving up eating meat. The other wolves are amused, but not as understanding as Seth. They don't fully appreciate the relevance of the parallel between humans forgoing meat in order to avoid the arguably needless slaughter of animals and us forgoing human blood.

I don't bother to comment, because Sue and Leah step out of the tent a moment later and take the focus away from me. The fact that Leah is walking amazes us all—Sue is holding her tightly in case she falls, but Leah is definitely moving a lot more normally than any of us had anticipated.

Seth helps with the car door, but when he doesn't get in after his sister, Sue realises he might want to stay. They hadn't discussed it, because Sue had hoped he would just go with them. "Aren't you coming, Seth?" she asks gently, not wanting to force it.

"Can I stay here?" he asks, seizing on the leeway in her question. _Leah won't want me there anyway_.

Sue can't help her first thought—the automatic fear of leaving her son with vampires—but she does trust Carlisle and me, and though she is a little nervous about the rest of our family (she has seen Esme and Rosalie at the hospital, but the other three are completely unknown to her), she trusts us to keep Seth safe.

"Excuse me, Sue," I say. "If you don't mind, the pack would like Seth to spend the day with them."

Seth likes that the sound of that as much as Sue does. She nods, then looks first at Seth and then at Jared and Paul. "Stay together," she says, and it doesn't take a mind-reader to know that she's warning them to keep an eye on her son at all times.

The wolves and Seth nod, and she smiles and says her goodbyes before starting the car and driving away.

Seth waits until the car is out of sight, and then kicks off his shoes. Guessing his intention, Bella buries her face in my shoulder. He remembers her as he's partway through shedding his pants.

"Sorry," he mumbles, feeling the need to apologise while he can still speak—but all it does is prolong his nakedness.

I can't help laughing at his innocent self-consciousness. "Just hurry up!"

He grins, then concentrates, and 15 seconds later, there are four wolves around us. Seth greets his brothers happily, and they return the greeting, all as excited as Seth to show their youngest recruit what it means to be a Quileute wolf.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12: Deputy**

The minute the wolves leave, Seth carrying his clothes in a cloth bag tied around his middle, my phone rings. It's Alice.

 _"Let me speak to Bella,"_ she says, so I hand over the phone without speaking.

"Alice?"

 _"Charlie rang Renée earlier."_

" _What?!_ " Bella shrieks, though months of keeping her voice down to hide from Charlie have, fortunately, taught her not to make loud noises—otherwise the wolves would've come racing back, thinking something was attacking us.

 _"Sorry—he only made up his mind a moment before he called."_

Bella sighs. "That's okay. Did you see what they said?"

 _"Yes, but I think you should call her right now—she won't wait much longer."_

Bella cringes. "Thanks, Alice. Are you gonna come home now?"

 _"Already on my way."_

Bella smiles at that. "See you soon," she says. Alice returns the salutation, then hangs up, so Bella starts dialling her mother's number straight away.

Renée answers on the second ring. "Hi Mum," Bella says, sounding much too guilty.

"Bella!"

"I have something to tell you—"

 _"Edward's back,"_ Renée interrupts, her tone droll.

"How did—Did _Dad_ tell you?" Bella asks, with just the right amount of teenage outrage.

"He thought you were going to call me last night."

"I _was_ … but then it got late."

Renée hmmms understandingly—with only a mild amount of exasperation—then she says, "Bella, honey, I don't think it's good for you to let that boy back into your life."

"Well, I do. He and I have discussed it all, and I forgive him. We're back together, and we're _both_ happy again."

"You really think it can be like it was?"

"No," Bella replies stoutly. "It will be _better_."

"Bella…"

"Mum, I know what I want, and now he does, too." She flashes a grin at me, and I automatically smile back, though it still pains me to think about the full extent of her wishes. "We're back together, and that's final."

"I'm not arguing with you, honey. I just don't want you to get hurt again."

"I won't."

Renée doesn't answer for a moment. Then she sighs. _"I love you."_

"I love you, too, Mum," Bella replies. "How's everything in Jacksonville?"

Renée's natural enthusiasm takes over and, despite a lingering doubtfulness in her voice, she lets Bella change the subject. Bella listens attentively while her mother waxes lyrical on all the zany things she has been up to since they last spoke, asking all the normal sorts of questions and making the usual noises of engagement. When Renée starts telling Bella things from over a month ago, obviously encouraged by Bella's responsiveness, I try not to dwell on the reasons she hasn't been her usual open self.

I start hearing Alice's thoughts as Bella and Renée exchange goodbyes—she timed it deliberately so that she wasn't around when Bella would be sidelined from conversation—so she appears while Bella is passing the phone back to me. She doesn't even glance at me, but she spares a thought to let me know that Jasper and Emmett had no trouble with the newborns.

Bella accepts a hug from Alice, but she's too worked up to smile. "I can't believe Charlie called her!" she exclaims, indignant.

Alice nods, and then, as she describes the discussion Charlie and Renée had about my unwelcome return, she lets me see her vision of it. I find it interesting that Charlie hasn't told Renée about Jacob, but his emphasis on the _new friends_ she's made since I left makes it clear he's thinking about him.

A separate strand of Alice's thoughts is focused on her intense irritation at the wolves' immunity to her gift (exacerbated by the stench they left behind). I empathise, but I feel the need to point out that _my_ inability to read Bella's mind is just as great a sufferance—given her historic (and ongoing) amusement at that insufficiency, I would be smug about this phenomenon if we shared our usual closeness. She picks up on the comment (and my sense of amusement) in a brief vision of a conversation that will never actually happen. At first, she scolds me for what she calls disrespect, but, eventually, she acknowledges the equivalency of our limitations and deigns to forgive me for my amusement.

Then she actually addresses me directly; although she asks about the riddle of Victoria's success that she is desperate to solve, it's definite progress. To expedite her complete forgiveness, I answer her as thoroughly as I can.

"When you told me she was flying to Rio, I took my time getting to the airport she'd left from. I focused on tracking her myself, trying to put together Victoria's movements as if I didn't have your insight. And then, as I searched the minds of airport staff, I caught a memory of Victoria getting into a car."

Alice is appalled that she'd missed this drastic divergence from the path she'd seen, so I cut to the chase. "She was deliberately trying to thwart your visions. She got on the plane fully _planning_ to go to Rio, but then she told a flight attendant that she felt violently ill and the _attendant_ took her off the plane—so it wasn't _her_ decision."

"She still decided _something_ ," Bella points out, questioning my explanation. "She listened to the flight attendant."

Alice doesn't like it, but she has to admit that there is a potential loophole in the way her gift works. "I missed the smaller decisions because she stuck to her decision to go to Rio even after leaving the plane."

I nod. "She carefully thought about her plans without _deciding_ anything, and let strangers make as many decisions for her as possible."

While Alice works out how to rectify this weakness, Bella asks me, "How did you find out where Victoria went?"

I debate what answer to give her, before deciding to come clean. "I hacked the airport security system and got the car's licence plate number."

" _Hacked?_ " Bella exclaims.

I smile at Alice; she doesn't smile back, so I refocus on Bella. "Jasper's the _real_ hacker of the family, but I know enough of his tricks to get by."

Bella chuckles (probably at the thought of vampire hackers), then says, "Hacking doesn't count as _tracking_."

"I know," I agree. "That's why I said I'm not good at tracking."

While Bella rolls her eyes at my joke, Alice frowns. "I didn't see any of that that," she murmurs, questioning how she'd missed _my_ actions.

I don't like the answer that seems most logical—we'd fallen out of sync—so I raise another possibility. "I suppose I always intended to hack various databases if the need arose, so maybe it wasn't a new decision."

"I still should've seen it," she replies. "I should've seen where you were."

I shake my head. "That's _my_ fault," I insist. "I threw the future into chaos." And then I realise something else. "Did you ever see me going back to Forks?"

"Only every hour or two."

That makes Bella smile—and then frown. I touch her cheek and her frown disappears even as her skin floods with colour.

"It's _my_ fault," I repeat. "I should never have left you," I say to Bella; then, to Alice, I say, "and my instability concealed Victoria's plan for vengeance. Without the wolves, she would've succeeded." I flinch as I realise that that isn't quite true. "No," I murmur, " _Laurent_ would have."

Alice immediately curses the falsehearted liar; Bella has already told her about his surprise visit, which means she probably knows more of the details than I do, although she seems unaware of Irina's role in Victoria's successful deception. I'm still angry at Irina for being so careless with our secrets, but as I contemplate telling Alice, my reluctance suggests that I've already forgiven her—because Alice is bound to take it badly. Thanks to Irina's misplaced trust in Laurent, Victoria had been able to completely circumvent her gift. But Alice is my sister, not Irina.

"Irina told him enough about our gifts that Victoria was able to identify a potential weakness."

Despite expecting an intense reaction, the degree of fury Alice feels is shocking; I'm glad Jasper isn't here because he wouldn't be able to handle it.

" _Irina_ ," she hisses, her voice so full of spite that it reminds me of Rosalie's.

Bella cringes, and I wonder if she hadn't thought Alice could be scary, but then she reaches out and takes Alice's hand—the last thing anyone should do with an enraged vampire. Of course, Bella is not _anyone_ , so she gets away with it, and Alice appreciates the gesture of comfort.

To distract them both, I go on with the story of how I tracked Victoria from Denver to Seattle, calling myself a private investigator and alternatively questioning witnesses or hacking police databases, traffic and security camera systems, and public records.

When I am finished, Alice rewards me with the story of how Jasper and Emmett got on in Seattle. She shared her visions with Bella last night, so she only speaks aloud the parts that Bella isn't already aware of. There were four newborns in the house. Alice saw that there was no point trying to talk to them, because Riley had instilled in them a deep mistrust of strangers, so my brothers went straight on the offensive.

Jasper had initially riled them up, but they were so volatile anyway and dispatching them was so easy that he stopped bothering. Emmett was disappointed by their lack of combat skills, but he enjoyed testing his strength against theirs. The house was destroyed in the fight, so they piled all the pieces of vampire in one room, set them alight, and then watched the house burn to the ground (until the fire brigade showed up). After checking the second house, which was empty, they did a quick tour of Seattle before returning home, taking out an entire herd of deer on their way.

Bella stares hard at me when Alice says that, eyeing my dark eyes with concern, and Alice breaks off the end of her story to tell me I should go hunting now. I would rather wait till later, when Bella is asleep, but the potential for gaps in Alice's visions doesn't allow me our usual sense of security. So I nod, then give Bella a quick kiss.

"Seth suggested we have dinner with them tonight," I tell her, thinking of dialling Seth's number so Alice can see it. "If you'd like that, you could call Charlie while I'm gone?"

Alice looks into the future and sees us cross into La Push before we disappear into the void. It annoys her that I already have my answer, while she has nothing but frustration. I touch her arm, and she acknowledges my sympathy and then looks ahead to help me find a couple of deer as quickly as possible.

"Be quick," Bella says, and I can't help but laugh.

"I'll be back in seven minutes," I promise her.

Relying on Alice's vision, I let myself run on autopilot, following the route she pictured for me. The cluster of deer is drinking at a temporary pond. I snap two of their necks before they even realise I'm there.

Back at home, Bella has arranged for us to pick up Charlie from work and go to the Clearwaters'. I'm not sure that's such a good idea, especially since Alice sees Charlie glaring at me from the back seat for the entire car ride, but Alice is convinced it will ultimately be worse if Charlie drives himself.

To keep herself involved for longer, she comes with us to get the food Bella has organised to cook at their house— _lasagne_ , which sounds complicated, so I look forward to learning her technique. Alice is peeved that she can't see the evening, but she does her best to let it go and enjoy spending time with Bella.

On our way to the garage, on the spur of the moment, I detour to grab the spare key for the Volvo—to give as a gift to Seth. I want to give him something tangible to represent our friendship and show him how much he already means to me. When Bella quirks an eyebrow, I realise I haven't told her about the lessons yet.

She is as censorious as anticipated, shaking her head before remarking, "Is there any point telling you not to teach him _bad_ _habits_?"

I laugh. "Speeding isn't a _habit_ ," I tease; she waves an admonishing hand in my direction, so I don't joke further. "I will be a _good_ teacher," I promise, "but you can come along to adjudicate if you'd like."

She nods, accepting that, then lets Alice take charge of the conversation, sharing what she knows of the Quileutes' legends. I drive us to the supermarket, listening to Bella's descriptions and conversing with Alice regarding her request that I also pick Seth's brain on this matter, then man the trolley as Bella and Alice select the ingredients we need. Alice, naturally, goes overboard, but I'm happy to take extra food, especially given the wolves' hugely increased appetites—and Sue has two in the family.

Charlie got home early, so we drop Alice off around the corner before we pick him up, then drive straight to the Clearwaters'. His grief isn't enough to suppress his disapproval of me, but it keeps him from being argumentative.

We're four miles out when I begin to pick up the detail of Seth's thoughts. He is doing his counting trick again, except this time it's not merely a number—it's the number of bites of food he expects me to have. He is already up to 36 because he is counting faster than last time. I'm amazed by how clearly I can hear him. Does his receptiveness to my eavesdropping help me pinpoint him?

Whatever it is, I take full advantage of the extra time it gives me with his thoughts, enjoying his sense of humour and planning things we can talk about with Charlie present.

When we arrive, Charlie is understandably stunned by Seth's _growth spurt_ , but Seth just grins and says, "It must be longer than you think since you saw me standing up."

Charlie's suspicions aren't assuaged, but he lets it go; Seth's grin even raises half a smile. Sue's offer of a beer secures the other half.

Leah doesn't come out of her room to greet us; she's listening to music and trying to pretend I'm not here. Seth assures me that she was already in a bad mood (she's been mad at the whole world since Sam broke up with her, and since her family—from her perspective—sided with him), so I don't feel the need to apologise for my presence in her house. Bad mood aside, her condition is incredible: she has almost fully recovered from her injuries. Although her left arm is still aching, it is bending again as it should (she phased again to complete the repair), and her jaw, leg, and spine feel completely normal. She can almost pretend it was all just a particularly vivid nightmare.

While Sue and Charlie go sit down in the lounge, Bella gets started on the cooking. Seth and I go with her to be her assistants, and this time, I pay attention to the way she cooks, not merely the instructions she gives me. Parts of it seem straightforward, but as I watch her sample the mince mixture at intervals, I wonder if it might be beyond my skill to master flavoursome human food—then again, when she munches on a raw piece of lettuce, I wonder if she's simply snacking while she cooks.

With our help, the lasagne only takes ten minutes to prepare; then, while it's cooking, we each make a sweet treat—under Bella's instruction, I make two apple pies (because thy involve the most work); Seth makes peanut brownies; and Bella makes chocolate rum truffles (with rum essence, not actual alcohol).

Seth and I ferry the food into the dining room—Charlie almost catches me carrying the steaming dish of lasagne in my bare hands, so I am more careful after that—while Bella puts the apple pies into the oven. Sue asks if there's anything she can do, but Bella, Seth, and I all say no, and Seth makes her wait in the lounge until everything is ready in the dining room.

When Sue asks Leah to join us, she won't let her sulky daughter decline. Leah doesn't want to argue, but she tries to say that she should be allowed to eat in her room. After her objection to my presence is shot down, she wishes she'd played the injury card first—because the experienced nurse isn't fooled when she starts bemoaning her aching back. So Leah trudges into the dining room, cursing Seth and me for our "offensive" friendship, and slumps into a chair. Bella smiles at her, but Leah just glares at all three of us.

Seth waits for Sue and Charlie to fill their plates, and then starts loading up the plate in front of _me_ , but Sue scolds him and makes him take the plate himself. She assures me in her thoughts that I don't have to eat and I dip my head to thank her for her consideration.

"There's nothing you're allergic to in the lasagne, is there?" Seth asks me, fully earnest in tone despite the wicked amusement in his thoughts.

"I'm _vegetarian_ ," I remind him.

"Oh," he says with a smirk, "I'll get you some salad."

" _Seth_ ," Sue admonishes. "Leave him be."

After glancing at Charlie, he finally settles down, realising he can't risk taking the joke too far. "If I couldn't eat ice cream, I'd _die_ ," he says as he stabs a forkful of lasagne.

Leah snorts at the _lame joke_ as she watches me select one of the smaller jacket potatoes and a piece of pumpkin (if I'm going to eat, I may as well choose hot food). She hopes I'll be offended or get sick of his "childishness", so she doesn't have to eat with a _reeking corpse_ in the room. But even if I _were_ irritated by her thoughts, which I'm not—Rosalie is a thousand times more creative in her insults (she's had many, many years to perfect them)—I do feel conscious that I'm intruding in her house, and I know how much my scent burns her nose.

It annoys her when I don't look the least bit irritated, so I quirk a brow at her, hoping she'll take it to mean that I _am_ annoyed but hiding it (because if she gets any angrier, she'll be at risk of losing her temper). She isn't completely convinced, but she gives up complaining and does her best to forget that a leech had a hand in making the food she's eating.

From the thoughts I can hear and the enjoyment on Bella's face, the lasagne is good. No one speaks for several minutes, but Seth speaks before it turns into an uncomfortable silence, telling us about _parkour_ , the latest extreme sport to get some mainstream traction. Sue has heard some of it before, but she appreciates his effort, and I join in to make a conversation out of it.

We have a bit of a break between courses, and Seth and I help Bella with dessert. The apple pies aren't quite done, but she decides it'll be okay to put the peanut brownies in already. I whip some cream to go with the pies, and Seth prepares the ice cream. It's salted caramel fudge, and as he sneaks a spoonful, he wonders if I got to taste anything remotely like it while my taste buds still _worked_. I shake my head, and he groans in pity for me, then holds out a spoonful for me.

"No point," I murmur. "I get more from hearing _you_ eat it."

That makes him grin, and he happily shoves the spoon into his mouth and slowly sucks the ice cream off it, savouring each of the complementary flavours.

" _Yum_ ," I say, teasing him back.

Bella laughs at us both, then sneaks a spoonful for herself.

The apple pies and truffles go down as well as the lasagne did. I don't have any, because it seems a shame to waste it. Seth eats almost half a pie on his own.

When everyone is done eating, neither Sue nor Charlie knows what to do or say; they're both exhausted, but neither wants to part just yet. Of course, Seth solves their awkwardness.

"Mum wants to make some little wolves for Dad tomorrow," he says, picturing origami paper wolves as well as carved wooden ones. "Will you help?"

"Of course," Charlie replies uncertainly, not confident with such fiddly work.

Seth disappears into the other room to get the necessary supplies, calling over his shoulder for me to help him. I smile at the others and Bella releases my hand. While Seth tells me what to collect—enjoying bossing me around—Leah asks to be excused.

Sue makes her promise not to leave the house, and Leah, reluctantly, obeys. After she goes back to her room, everyone relocates into the lounge. Seth hands Sue and Charlie each a stack of coloured paper and a pair of scissors, and asks them to cut the A4 paper into squares. Then he sets himself down in the middle of the floor, picks up a pre-cut square, and begins folding it.

"I'm the best at making these," he crows, taking care to line up the folds so that his wolf will be perfectly symmetrical.

As he works, I see another side of his personality. He effortlessly channels his boundless energy into this measured, focused task—without any awareness of the uniqueness of that ability. Bella sits down beside him, pulling me down with her, and picks up a piece of the stiff paper, turning it over in her hands.

"Don't cut yourself," Charlie warns her.

Seth chuckles, but Sue is worried that any one of them could cut themselves. Could I handle the scent of four different bloods? Perhaps in answer to Sue's nerves, Bella passes me the paper.

"I think I'll just watch," she says. Then she waves her handkerchief-covered hand. "I'd hate to get blood on anything."

"Excuses, excuses," Seth jokes. Then he nods at me. "Get going—and it better be _perfect_."

Charlie snorts at that, not enjoying the reminder that I seem to be so good at everything. But he isn't surprised, so I dare to start folding using the instructions in Seth's head.

The only sounds (besides their steady heartbeats and soft breaths) are the scissors cutting and the paper squeaking as we fold it. Bella watches us both, totally focused on our hands as we slowly shape the flat paper into three-dimensional wolves. I pace myself to Seth's moves, so he finishes first. He places the little wolf on his palm and holds it out for Bella to inspect. She leans forward, her lips curling into a wide smile as she admires the detail. Despite the relative simplicity of the design, Seth has managed to give it a personality.

"It's beautiful, Seth," she says.

He grins, then sets it on the coffee table and picks up a fist-sized chunk of the wood so he can show off his woodcraft skills.

"Not inside," Sue warns him.

He pouts. "I'll put paper down—"

"It's too messy."

"What about a smaller one?" he asks, trying to negotiate.

She hesitates, then sighs. Right now, it seems pointless to stop him for the sake of a clean house. "All right—but you're cleaning up _all_ the mess."

He nods, then chooses a smaller piece of wood and spreads out some of the thinner, white paper of varying sizes to catch the peelings. As he had with the paper wolf, he begins the complex task of shaping the wood without any fear or even awareness of the true challenge he is taking on. His thoughts are fascinating.

I finish my first wolf and give it to Bella. She scrutinises it closely, her smile widening as she notices the extra few folds I've added to its head to give it eyes. "Gorgeous," she deems, and Seth and I both wonder whether _gorgeous_ is a higher rating than _beautiful_.

Seth puts down his wolf and the carving knife, then leans over to inspect it. Bella passes it to him, though he could already see it perfectly, and he studies how I've done the eyes. "Not bad for your first attempt," he says, though in his thoughts he agrees with Bella. _You'll have to teach me that trick_.

"Thanks," I reply. "Shall I continue?"

"Yes—but faster this time. You're not leaving till you've done at least twenty." He sets my wolf beside his one and then goes back to his wooden wolf, which is far from ready. Obviously he's relying on me to provide the volume so he can work on this special one.

"Sure thing," I reply, selecting an orange piece of paper.

While we work, Sue drums up the courage to talk about tomorrow—the funeral—even as she worries more and more about slipping and cutting herself because she's so distracted. I know she needs help when her hands start shaking.

"Sue," I say, shifting onto my knees and holding out a hand for the scissors. "I can finish that."

She hesitates a moment, then passes the scissors to me, along with the half-cut piece of paper. The others all spare her a comforting smile, and she takes a deep breath. "Tomorrow," she says.

Charlie stops cutting, but Seth keeps up what he's doing; he already knows what she's going to say. He skims across the details, trying not to think too closely into it, so between Sue's thoughts and his, I get a reasonable outline of the funeral plan before she has spoken much of it. Then Seth thinks about the suggestion he'd made to invite me, and of his mother's hesitation.

After Sue reaches the end of the morning's programme, I hear the hesitancy in her thoughts, too. She is torn between two opposing truths—Harry wouldn't have wanted me there, but he would've been equally grateful for what I've done for Leah, and for Seth. I appreciate her dilemma, but I don't know how to unburden her with Charlie here.

When she finally looks at me, I smile and shake my head lightly, hoping she'll understand. She does, but she feels the need to get it out in the open—for Seth's sake as much as mine. So she says, "Seth would like to invite you."

Seth looks up at that, glancing from her to me, surprised that she brought it up.

"I appreciate it," I tell them both, "and I would certainly like to support you any way I can, but I don't want to cause you any trouble."

Charlie's mouth turns down at the corners, expressing his disgust; despite the usual barrier protecting the detail of his thoughts, I know he's thinking that Harry wouldn't want me there, as well as about all the trouble I've already caused.

Seth grins, thinking about Quil Ateara and the others in the tribe who aren't happy about me having permission to enter the Reservation (even those who know the legends but don't believe in their literal truth feel uneasy about it). "I'll tell them you made the paper wolves." _They'll_ love _that_.

"Might be best to leave me out of it," I reply, worrying that Quil (at the least) might hate me enough to want to destroy my little wolves, without regard to how it makes Seth and Sue feel.

He shrugs, coming to a similar conclusion, then smiles again. "I'll just have to say _I_ made them."

"Fine by me," I say, happy to please him.

We work in silence for another minute, Seth focusing on his little wolf's tail, Bella and Sue watching us both, and Charlie doggedly cutting squares.

"Have you ever been to a funeral?" Seth asks me curiously; then, as he wonders if I got to go to my parents' funeral, he suddenly wonders if I went to my _own_.

"No," I say, answering all three questions at once.

He gives me a small smile, not sure whether I'm _lucky_ or whether I missed out on saying goodbye—not that he thinks he'll be saying goodbye _to_ his father tomorrow. He knows that funerals are meant to help the living move on, but that awareness chafes against both his sense of unending loss and his impressive ability to accept it and live with it.

Again, I am amazed by the maturity of his thoughts. Simply hearing them makes _me_ feel wiser. I wish I could be there for him tomorrow, but at least I am helping now. I dare to work a little faster, only slowly slightly when Sue starts worrying about Charlie noticing.

The evening passes quickly. Because I'm trying not to alarm Charlie, it takes two hours to make 20 wolves. The multicoloured crowd, including Seth's one, covers the entire coffee table, surrounding the (now half-empty) plate of peanut brownies. Seth is still working on his wooden wolf, but it is unmistakably a wolf now, with four legs (each finished with a little paw), a bushy tail, and a proud head with upright ears and upturned nose. He has based it on himself, but is thinking of it as his father's wolf form, so he makes the proportions a little different—somewhere between his and Sam's—to match how he imagines his father would've looked.

Charlie stops cutting up paper after 57 sheets and then eyes me hostilely, as though searching for something to complain about. But I assume he's focusing on me as a way of avoiding thinking about tomorrow, so I let him glare without engaging him.

When Seth finally finishes his wolf, I'm just finishing my 27th paper wolf. I set him down beside his brethren, and then rest my hands against my thighs. Seth laughs at the multitude of wolves, elated by the colourful pack I've made for him.

"Awesome!" he cries. "Thanks, Edward."

"You're welcome."

He hands me the wooden wolf. "Any suggestions?"

I study it, impressed by the evenness, in shape and size, of the notches he's left in the wood, creating the effect of the wolf's fur and giving its head, snout, and paws definition and character. "No, it's brilliant," I say, holding it out for Bella to see.

She nods. "You're so clever, Seth."

He grins. "Dad taught me," he says.

Sue kneels down beside him and places a hand on his back. "He'd be _so_ proud of you, Seth," she murmurs. Then she amends that; "He _was_ proud."

I give back the wolf so Sue can see it. She takes one look and bursts into tears; without being told, she sees Harry in the wolf, and she knows how much Harry would've _loved_ to become one.

Seth pulls her into his arms, while Charlie and Bella react in the exact same way—it's almost amusing watching them tense and withdraw into themselves, as though trying to hide by looking smaller and staying still. They both hate emotional scenes, especially when there's nothing practical they can do to help.

Sue knows her audience and feels bad for breaking down in front of them, but I think it's a useful trial run for the funeral tomorrow. Billy and Charlie were Harry's best friends, and she can't exactly lean on Billy for support—Charlie will have to be there for her tomorrow, to take some of the load off Seth.

"It's beautiful, Seth," Sue mumbles, pulling herself together. "Your best yet."

"Thanks, Mum," he replies, tightening his arms around her to encouraging her to relax and let him comfort her; when she does, they both sigh.

"It's been a _long_ day," she murmurs, struggling to believe that Harry has only been gone for a single day.

"We should probably go," Charlie says gently. "But _anything_ I can do," he says, trailing off, embarrassed by the attempt at expressing his feelings.

"I know," Sue assures him, standing up. "Thank you." While Charlie gets up, too, she wipes her eyes with the back of her hand and then gives him a brief hug.

Bella and I stand up, and then Seth, reluctantly; he isn't ready to say goodbye yet. So I indulge him a little longer by presenting him with the spare key to the Volvo.

He laughs in delight. "Thanks!" he gushes, holding it as though it's made of gold. He feels a little guilty for teasing me over dinner, but I shake my head to show him there's no need for that. When he realises that I could've given him the key earlier and spared myself all the taunting, he decides that he must be forgiven.

I raise an arm and he hugs me exuberantly, already looking ahead to plan our first lesson. Though he is still too young to drive, legally, we both know we can get away with it on the Reservation—though Charlie is watching us suspiciously, we know he won't interfere if Sue gives her permission. And then Seth distracts me by wondering how good he'll have to be before I give him the key to my _other_ car.

"No one drives my Vanquish but _me_ ," I insist.

He chuckles. _You wouldn't let_ me _?_ , he thinks, eyes wide and innocent. "Not even _Bella_?" he teases, glancing at her.

I roll my eyes, because he knows I would give Bella anything she wanted (and even that I'd do my best not to _freak out_ if she did any damage). Bella, on the other hand, grimaces. "I don't _want_ to," she says, though I don't know if she is thinking about driving such a powerful car or about the risk that she'll damage it (perhaps both).

"Can I have _your_ turn?" he requests, unfazed.

Bella laughs. "No!"

He looks back at me, deep into my eyes. He _really_ wants to drive the Vanquish—he doesn't want to have to wait for the car I agreed to buy for him. He thinks of his offer to let me ride him, wondering how to _sweeten_ it.

"We already made a deal about that," I remind him, teasing, because he's already won me over.

Bella glances between the two of us, curious, but Seth shakes his head, so she doesn't ask.

"Is it the Vanquish specifically," I ask, "or would you like to drive a supercar?"

His eyes light up. "Zonda," he blurts, picturing the sleek, garish thing.

I laugh. Of course he'd pick the world's fastest car. "When you get your provisional licence, I'll hire one for you," I promise.

He pulls me into another hug, his heart racing at the idea of it. He is picturing a day hire at some race track somewhere in America, but I am thinking about a visit to Italy (staying away from the Volturi's home of Volterra) and a tour of the Modena factory as well as hiring the car for a proper test—on the open road as well as a race track. I smile at the excitement _that'll_ cause when I tell him.

Charlie leads the way to the front door, then waits for Bella and me to walk out first. Seth takes great delight in unlocking the car for me; even Sue chuckles.

As I drive away, Seth reminds me to practise keeping a hold on his thoughts for longer. He teases me by saying I'd better not be sick of his thoughts already because he expects me to learn how to keep them in range permanently (he jokes that it's so he can call on me whenever he likes), but he doesn't really think I would want that. Next time I see him, I will have to spell out just how much I enjoy his thoughts, so he knows I _wouldn't_ mind.

Four miles out, his thoughts are still clear, but as we approach four and a half miles, I start to lose the detail. I can still see what he's seeing, but his thoughts are fuzzy, mostly wordless. I focus harder, but if I'm honest, I don't actually know _how_ to home in on his thoughts, so I don't manage to get back the distinctness I've lost, and in another half mile, I lose the connection altogether.

Failing at this (at anything) frustrates me, but I like that Seth is pushing me—learning greater control and precision at distance should help me at close quarters with thoughts I _don't_ want to hear. Before Seth's suggestion, I realise I've only focused on _blocking_ thoughts without thinking about _narrowing_ my focus. Now that I've identified this oversight, perhaps I can practice even at close range.

For now, I reach out to Alice, trying to hear her thoughts at the earliest possible moment. Thinking about extending my own abilities makes me wonder if she can do the same thing. Could she _learn_ to see the wolves? But that would presumably involve spending a lot of time with them, and I can't see that happening anytime soon.

I still haven't picked up anything from Alice or Carlisle by the time we arrive at Bella's. Ignoring Charlie, who opens his door but clearly isn't going to get out of the car until Bella does, I give Bella a lingering kiss, and then we say our temporary goodbyes.

Knowing Bella will be waiting for me, I race home. Two miles from home, I start to pick up Carlisle's mind six miles away, which is thrilling—until I realise he and Esme are kissing passionately. I ease off on my focus and immediately lose track of him, which suggests I'm doing something right. I can't hear Alice at all, so I figure she isn't nearby.

I drive the car into the garage, then take off, running straight back to Bella's and trying to block out my parents' lovemaking by imagining my mind-reading as a loosely woven net that captures some thoughts and allows others (of my choosing) to escape. If Kate can learn to radiate electricity through her entire body (and not just the palms of her hands), why can't I improve my precision?

Bella is lying in bed, head resting on her elbow, facing the window. For the split second it takes her to see me and react, there is a thoughtful, faraway expression on her face and her cheeks are slightly flushed. I try not to jump to conclusions, but I can't help wondering if she's thinking about Jacob.

Whatever she'd been thinking, she welcomes me into her bed as eagerly as always, so I bury the self-inflicted jealousy and focus solely on her. We kiss gently at first, trading tender kisses that warm my frozen insides, but our passions quickly escalate.

When I absolutely can't take any more, I pull back, but Bella is reluctant to stop. I let her kiss my neck for several seconds before I have to pull her lips away from my heated skin with a groan. It is too much and not enough all at once. I struggle with the desire to cross the careful lines I have established for her protection—no matter how much I want to press my lips to _her_ neck, and run my hands all over her body.

She sighs, but settles down, resting her head against my shoulder. Her heart is still thundering, though, and it makes it hard to calm myself down.

After fighting it for a minute, I give in, letting the impossible fantasies fill my mind.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13: Beau**

The mood in the Swan house is sombre in the morning, as Charlie prepares for Harry Clearwater's funeral. I am glad we spent last night with Seth and Sue, but I still wish I could be there today. Bella gets up early to offer Charlie breakfast, but he declines, so she hugs him and returns to bed.

To take both of our minds off the funeral, I decide to get another bit of awkwardness out of the way. When I get up, Bella sits up; alongside her obvious curiosity, a hint of fear is creeping in her eyes, so I stop to reassure her that I'm not going anywhere.

I crouch down and pull up the floorboard beneath which I hid her CD, plane tickets, and photos. When she sees what I'm doing, she laughs. I breathe a sigh of relief.

"You _do_ love me," she teases.

"Truly, I do."

She gestures for me to leave the things on the floor and come back to bed, so I set the floorboard back in place before returning to her arms.

We are interrupted by my phone. It's Alice, so I don't make her wait.

" _Renée is on the way to Seattle_ ," she says, getting straight to the point. " _She got a standby flight_."

" _WHAT?_ " Bella yells, and I'm glad Charlie has already left; he would've heard that from downstairs.

" _She's decided she needs to see you—_ both _of you._ "

I cringe; Bella is fuming, muttering angrily about Charlie stirring up trouble.

" _She'll be in Forks in three hours_."

"Thanks, Alice," I say, and Bella, after sighing, seconds my thanks.

" _You're welcome_ ," Alice replies. " _Bye_."

We decide to stay here and enjoy each other's company for as long as possible. Bella makes herself some scrambled eggs, and then I finish my rendition of _The Taming of the Shrew_ , which had been so abruptly interrupted by Riley the other night.

When Charlie's cruiser pulls up, we're in the kitchen, cleaning up the lunch dishes.

"Oh," he says gruffly, "you're here." He seems to be considering what to say next, but then he simply adds, "Don't go anywhere—I'll be right back."

Bella nods weakly. Fortunately, he leaves before her obvious dread can make him suspicious.

We sit in silence, waiting for him to return with Renée. Although I suspect Bella is thinking about her mother (as I am), for some reason, I am especially frustrated at not knowing the detail of her thoughts. Perhaps it is because her mental silence contrasts so sharply with her mother's powerful thoughts.

The clarity of Renée's thoughts fascinates me, so I can't help but look forward to hearing them again, despite the impending awkwardness of our meeting.

Without even trying, I start hearing her thoughts when she is a little over five miles away. But unlike the initially faint glimpses of feelings that are all I can pick up at the limits of my range, Renée's thoughts are immediately crystal clear. I am reminded of the commentary of some massive sporting event, blasting out across the grounds, but without any of the accompanying distortion or reverberation. It is as though she is screaming in my ear—and the subject of her thoughts doesn't help me counter that image. She is cursing me, fretting about Bella, missing Phil, and trying to ignore the bad memories Forks stirs up. Remembering Bella's grief-stricken state on her last visit only makes it harder for her—and for me.

After a minute, Bella notices my distraction. "They're almost here," I say by way of explanation.

She sighs, then stands up and leads me into the lounge. "They're not here _yet_ ," she murmurs, before directing me to sit on the couch and then sitting herself in my lap.

We trade gentle kisses until Charlie's cruiser pulls into the yard. Bella shifts off my lap, but keeps her arms around my neck, so when Charlie and Renée walk in, we are hugging on the couch. Charlie's bad mood worsens, and Renée is stunned all over again by the impossible perfection of my god-like good looks. It is hard to hear her wondering how many girls I _toyed with_ while I was in LA.

"Mum!" Bella cries, feigning surprise. She jumps up to accept the hug, then pulls back. "What are you doing here? You didn't have to come—"

"Bella, honey," Renée interrupts, her eyes searching Bella's face. When she finds her daughter there again, she is too happy for words. "I _wanted_ to," she insists, her smile lighting up her whole face. "I came to spend the weekend with my baby!"

Bella smiles back; despite her worries about her mother (or anyone) 'wasting' money on her, it's obvious she is just as happy to see her.

Renée eyes her daughter for another long moment, overjoyed to have her back, before turning to me. For politeness' sake, I stand up, but before I can give a verbal greeting, she steps around Bella.

Her intent to slap me is as potent as a real slap—and as plain as day. Bella catches her arm before she gets within striking range, saving me from having to duck out of the way.

"How dare he show his face," Renée exclaims, glaring right at me even as she refers to me in the third person, "after what he did!"

I wish I could explain to her why I left. I wish I could let her hit me and that it would hurt as much as I deserve to hurt. She is surprised by the emotion in my eyes, but it doesn't distract her from her justifiable anger.

"Mum," Bella murmurs gently, rubbing her arm. She waits until Renée looks back at her before going on. "I forgive him. I _need_ you to forgive him, too."

Renée sags, torn between joy at having her daughter back and fear that I will _break_ her next time, because she doesn't trust me with Bella's heart. "He hurt you, baby. How can I forgive that?"

"We've figured it all out, and I trust him not to hurt me again," she says with absolute certainty; I try not to react and expose the lie. "I love him, and he loves me."

Renée's thoughts immediately turn to the hospital and Bella's casual dismissal of her warning about the depth of my feelings; obviously it had never been a 'crush' for either of us. Even as she worries that there was more to that event, questioning whether the two incidents—Bella _supposedly_ wanting to break up with me and me _actually_ breaking up with her—are related, she suddenly wonders if we'll be getting married next (because she thinks we both look serious enough for the next big step).

The emotions that that thought stirs in her are curiously mixed. Her disapproval is clear—she and Charlie married too young—but there is joy, too: without that mistake, she would never have had Bella.

My whole being aches at the thought of denying Bella the chance to be a mother. Rosalie would give up everything, even Emmett, for a life in which she got to have a baby; Esme makes do with mothering _us_ , but her heart still aches for the baby she lost; and Alice only doesn't care about motherhood because she has no sense of herself as a being capable of motherhood.

"I am truly sorry for the pain I caused," I tell Renée earnestly. "I ran away from my feelings, and I hurt everyone. But now I know how I feel." She purses her lips, unconvinced—she saw my devotion to Bella in the hospital—so I try a different approach. "I was irresponsible and immature, and I know I don't deserve a second chance, but—"

"You _don't_ ," Charlie retorts, and Renée is in full agreement.

I don't know what to say in the face of their united disgust.

"We're getting married," Bella blurts out.

Everyone freezes, even me.

" _WHAT?_ " Charlie roars.

Renée is too stunned to speak; despite her earlier thought, she hadn't expected it to be a done deal already. When the shock begins to fade, her first thought—just as Bella had warned—is that Bella is pregnant, though it only takes a moment for her to realise I've only been back a couple of days, so even if Bella _is_ pregnant, we wouldn't know yet. And she has enough faith in Bella's responsible nature that worrying about _Bella_ falling pregnant accidentally seems silly.

"We're going to live together when we go to college," Bella explains, "and Edward is old fashioned," she adds, like it's a bad thing. It takes a second for me to realise that she's implying we're going to get married _before_ we start college in spring. Has she changed her mind about college, or is it merely the first explanation she thought of and now she's locked into a sudden ceremony?

"You're too young to get married," Charlie insists.

Renée nods, but in her head, she's already picturing a storyline that could fit any one of her favourite romantic novels—complete with fairytale wedding. Bella's seemingly overnight transformation from a lost soul to the confident young woman she has always known was in there speaks to her childlike optimism. The anger she feels at me is already morphing into a hopeful fondness—she admires my romantic ideals.

And Bella knows her mother so well. "He _loves_ me," she says, "and I know what I want. I'm not being naïve."

"No one thinks you are," Renée replies; of the two of them, she knows that Bella has always been the adult.

Charlie's disapproval turns on Renée. "Of course she is! She's just a _kid_ ; she doesn't know—"

"If it's a mistake, then we'll figure it out," Bella says firmly. "But marriage isn't the end of the world." I _almost_ believe her. "This is what I want."

Charlie glares at me, his emotions a whirl of love and concern for Bella and anger for me. It must be very odd to have me show up six months almost to the day after deserting Bella without warning and then two days later be prepared to marry her.

"Have you thought about _when_?" Renée asks, already thinking of Phil's sporting commitments. I am amazed that she has such faith in Bella.

Which makes me realise how little faith _I_ have shown in her. Despite her strength, despite her repeatedly showing me that she is strong enough to live in my world, I have constantly underestimated her.

Charlie huffs at Renée, but otherwise doesn't verbalise his disgust.

"August," Bella replies. Then she blurts, "Please don't tell anyone yet—apart from Phil, of course."

Charlie purses his lips; no doubt he is hoping he won't _ever_ have to tell anyone.

Renée dithers for a moment, then gives in to her natural excitement and throws her arms around Bella. "I'm happy for you, baby," she gushes.

Charlie, unseen by Renée, throws up his hands in disgust.

"Thanks, Mum," Bella mumbles, clearly thrown by this exuberant reaction. But then she hugs her back. "I love you."

"I love you, too, Bella—so much!" They pull back and smile at each other. "My baby is officially all grown up." Then she chuckles. "I'm not old enough to be a grandmother yet, though," she jokes.

Bella gives a grimaced smile, but is spared having to comment by Renée turning her eyes on me.

"Edward," she says solemnly, "I like that you are prepared to commit to Bella. But this is _my_ commitment to you: if you _ever_ hurt my baby again, I will hunt you down and rip you apart with my bare hands." For the first time, in the ferocity in her eyes—and the conviction in her thoughts—I can see where Bella came from.

While Bella stifles a chuckle, I nod. "I understand," I promise her, respecting her warning. "And I _am_ committed to Bella, whether we're married or not." I wish I could promise never to hurt Bella again, but even if I manage not to cause her mental anguish ever again, I can't disregard the agony of the transformation.

I feel a burst of frustration from Charlie—obviously he'd prefer _not_.

Bella takes my hand and squeezes it; I'm not surprised that she has noticed my poorly concealed distress, though I wonder if she ascribes it to the thought of _not_ marrying her rather than the suffering I will put her through when I bite her—the three days of agony, the lifetime of nagging thirst, and the heartbreak of cutting herself off from her parents. But, for her sake, I push that guilt aside and smile in the hope of easing any concerns she has. She smiles back, and I think she looks genuinely happy for the first time since I returned.

"Have Carlisle and Esme heard about this?" Charlie asks, breaking the brief silence.

"Not yet," I reply without looking away from Bella. Her eyes sparkle as she no doubt imagines my parents' joyous reaction. Then she turns her head to look at Charlie.

"But we know they'll be pleased," she adds defensively.

I can tell from his reaction that he disagrees, but he doesn't comment. "I'd like a word with them about it," he says instead.

"Sure," Bella says, striving for casual but not fully masking her unease. Then she frowns, as though she's given up hiding it. "As long as you promise not to be rude. You can't blame _them_ for Edward's—" she pauses; even though I'm here, she can't even say the words. I press a kiss to her temple.

"I'd love to meet your mother, Edward," Renée speaks up, moving the conversation on to spare her daughter. "Perhaps we could all have dinner together tonight?"

"I'll ask when I get home," I reply, though I'm conscious that Bella won't be happy that they'll have to eat.

Renée claps her hands together. She is looking forward to seeing my lovely father again, but is genuinely excited at the prospect of meeting my mother—the image in her head of a beautiful, kind-hearted woman is remarkably like Esme.

But I'm distracted from listening to her thoughts when Bella's heart stutters. When I refocus on her, her eyes are wide with what looks disturbingly like anxiety.

"You're leaving?" she murmurs, before Renée can express her excitement in words.

"I thought you'd like to spend some time with your mother," I reply, deeply regretting this latest misassumption.

Her fingers tighten around mine while her other hand goes to my chest, clutching my shirt. Since I returned, we have parted seven times (not counting the time that I was chased away by wolves), yet she looks as unhappy now as she did when I left to fight Victoria.

"I'll stay," I promise, beyond caring that Charlie appears to be thinking violent thoughts that centre on me and his gun, while Renée worries that Bella's clinginess might drive me away.

Bella exhales, reassured but embarrassed, too, and releases my shirt.

"You better mean what you say this time," Charlie growls at me. "You have no idea the _hell_ you put her through."

I flinch at the swell of pain in his thoughts. The intensity of my reaction startles them both, and I'm intrigued by Renée's theory—that I might be many times more intuitive than the average person. Though she is thinking in terms of reading _emotions_ , not thoughts, she is absolutely right. Trust Bella's mother to be the quickest to figure out my gift of anyone I've ever met (besides Bella).

"I mean it," I promise him when I remember what he said. "I love Bella, and I want to marry her. I want to spend the rest of my life with her."

Renée is pleased that I sound as adamant as before—she takes it to mean that Bella's extreme reaction hasn't unnerved me. And then her thoughts stray to Phil, who'd told her he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her when he proposed to her. I wonder how many marriage proposals _don't_ include that statement. It subdues me when I realise _mine_ didn't.

My proposal hadn't even been a question. I have done so many things wrong lately.

To get the conversation back on track, Renée asks, "What time do your parents normally eat?"

"It usually depends on what shift Carlisle is working at the hospital," I reply. "I'm sure they'll fit in with whatever time you'd prefer."

"Six-thirty or so?" Renée suggests. Then she glances at the clock on the wall. "What time are they expecting you home?"

"I said I'd call," I reply, trying not to be brusque; even after decades of enduring society's ever-increasing caution, the thing I hate most about pretending to be a teenager is being expected to gain my parents' permission for _everything_.

To avoid further expressions of parental concern, I pull out my phone and call Carlisle. He answers on the first ring.

 _"Edward,"_ he greets cheerfully.

"Carlisle," I reply. "Are you at home?"

 _"Yes. Alice filled us in—she's choosing our outfits as we speak,"_ he jokes.

I can't help but smile; I know how happy they all are to be back home. "That's great," I say. I am almost so distracted that I forget to tell him the full story for the sake of my audience, not simply that Renée has asked them out for dinner. "Bella's mother is in Forks for the weekend. Would you and Esme like to come to dinner with us tonight?"

 _"Oh, I'm sorry,"_ he apologises, understanding at once. _"Yes, that would be lovely."_

"Great," I say cheerfully—for Bella's sake, for she is looking more shame-faced by the second. "I'll pick you up about ten to six."

 _"Alice said Charlie should drive himself, and you can drive the rest of us. Come at five-fifteen and we'll show Renée around the house before we leave."_

"Okay. Anything else?"

 _"Not as far as I'm aware—oh, Alice is getting something for you to wear, and I think she's looking for something for Bella, too."_

I am torn between letting Alice have her way and trying to protect Bella—regardless, one thing seems clear. "Would she like to come, too?"

He chuckles. _"She didn't mention it, but I think so."_

"I'm sure she'll be welcome. See you later."

 _"Bye."_

I hang up. "Alice would like to come along, too, if that's all right."

"Of course it is," Renée gushes. "She's such a darling!"

"If Alice is there," Charlie speaks up, "will we be able to talk about this wedding thing?"

I give him a wry smile. "I have very few secrets from her, sir."

Bella chuckles; then she sighs. "She really doesn't have to come—"

"She _wants_ to." Thinking Bella might appreciate some warning, I say, "It sounds like she'll pick out something for _us_ to wear as well."

Bella's eyes widen. "For _us_?"

I nod. "Sorry."

She pouts, suddenly looking a lot less worried about my vampire family being forced to consume food, and I wonder if that is Alice's plan.

"Will she have anything that fits Bella?" Renée asks, picturing Alice's tiny frame.

"She dabbles in fashion design," I say, keeping it general. "I'm sure she has plenty in Bella's size."

"As long as she doesn't go all _prom_ on me," Bella grumbles.

I shrug. "It's Alice." And the dinner will be a big event in her mind, easily on the scale of prom.

Bella sighs martyrishly. "This is _your_ fault."

I cringe. She's right—it's _my_ fault that Renée is here at all, asking to have dinner with my family, all of whom will be forced to eat and then vomit up the undigested sludge. And it is most definitely my fault that Alice has six months' worth of exasperation to get out of her system.

"Will they be dressing up?" Renée asks, worrying about the meagre wardrobe she brought with her.

"Alice would be delighted to find you something," I offer.

"I couldn't possibly—"

"Mum," Bella says, "she'll dress me up whether I want it or not—" I wonder if she deliberately emphasised this point for Alice's benefit—"so if you'd _like_ her to, please tell her so. She might ease off on me, then."

"That dress you wore to prom was beautiful," Renée points out, remembering Alice's hand in that. "You looked lovely."

Bella makes a face, and I have to suppress a shudder myself; her broken leg had somewhat ruined the effect. How had I managed to feel so sure back then, despite the horrific injuries she had suffered? I really had thought that we could cope with anything—until Jasper's near-fatal slip had reminded me how dangerous _all_ vampires are, even the 'virtuous' ones.

"We should go somewhere nice, then," Renée goes on, and I focus on her voice (and her loud thoughts) with relief. "How about Port Angeles?" she suggests, even though she just came from there. She smiles at Charlie and I see a flash of memory—the two of them parked up outside the movie theatre, wrapped up in each other, kissing madly.

As embarrassing as it is to see Bella's parents in such a position (although it's not like I don't see much worse from my own family), I enjoy seeing Charlie look so carefree and happy. Then the realisation hits me that I've never seen or felt him feeling overly _happy_ —another sign I should've heeded: he has obviously never truly got over his heartbreak. And Bella is a lot more like her father than her mother.

"Good idea," Bella says. "Edward's taken me to a nice restaurant there once or twice." There is no hint in her voice or demeanour that the _one_ time we dined in Port Angeles wasn't a planned and pleasant date.

"Port Angeles is quite the drive," Charlie remarks.

"It'll give me plenty of time to get to know Esme," Renée replies, her natural excitement coming to the fore.

"There'll be _seven_ of us," he points out.

"If you don't mind driving," I suggest politely, "I'm sure Alice would enjoy riding with you, and I can take everyone else in the Volvo."

He frowns as though neither option is particularly appealing, but perhaps he is simply wishing he could take _me_ —and throw me in the back of his police cruiser in handcuffs.

"That sounds excellent," Renée says, knowing that Charlie would prefer the least number of passengers as possible, and Alice being so small means he's not likely to feel crowded. "What time did you say we'd pick them up?"

"Five-thirty."

She glances at the clock again. "Twelve-forty-eight," she announces. "Plenty of time—oh, but I'm all excited now!"

Bella smiles affectionately at her impulsive mother. "It'll go fast," she promises.

Charlie can see he's in a losing battle, so he excuses himself before it gets any worse. He's going back to La Push, but he promises to pick up Alice from our house at 5:30.

Despite Bella's claim that the time will pass quickly, the afternoon drags—for the two of us at least. As we chat with Renée, we cross one awkward subject after another. We have to lie or skirt the truth in so many instances that the differences between her world and our world are painfully obvious. I can only hope that Alice is briefing Carlisle and Esme on the history we have effectively invented.

In the end, Bella suggests we leave early. Renée is predictably enthusiastic.

The tidy Volvo further impresses her. She asks if it belongs to me, so I give her the standard line—it was Carlisle's old car; when he upgraded, he gave it to me so I could drive myself and my siblings to school. She asks about school in Los Angeles and I tell her it was very different to Forks. She laughs, and I take the opportunity to point out Forks' many charms, most notably our family's delight in hiking—which makes her laugh even harder. She thinks I will have to carry Bella if I ever want her to join us—so then I have to fight my own laughter.

Bella tries to prepare her mother for the house we live in, but Renée is blown away by the grand old mansion in the middle of the forest. It appeals to her romantic sensibilities, and she thinks she could _almost_ live here—if it weren't in rainy, miserable Forks.

I listen to my family's thoughts now, relieved to hear that Alice has informed them of our backstory. Alice's visions of the evening and her excitement about us getting married help me feel better; again, I think about how much I've missed her. And then I see her vision of me hugging her, apologising for my pointless struggles with fate. She tells me I can make up for it by letting her organise our wedding—and I immediately feel torn between unconditional agreement, on my behalf, and concern for Bella's preference for a small wedding.

Alice doesn't approve of my hesitation, and I see our conversation shift again and again, until there's no hug and I'm telling her I am sincere in my apology and I _will_ make it up to her, but I'll let _Bella_ decide what she wants for her wedding—which is the reason for Alice's pointed disregard of me when she comes down to say hello to everyone.

Bella barely waits until the introductions are over before trying to argue against Alice's makeover plans, but Alice ignores her and all but drags her upstairs. Esme and Renée follow, leaving Carlisle and me to bring up the rear, and she swaps her frustration at Bella's appalling eye for fashion for her general frustration with me. I don't mind because it helps her recover her cheer as she focuses on the (speculative) future in which she gets everything she wants.

Alice's room is covered in clothes. Bella slows, but Alice keeps pulling her to the back of the room, where her _real_ clothes are stored in an enormous walk-in wardrobe. Renée walks through the doorway and then gasps, stunned by all the big-name items; unlike Bella, she understands exactly how much money this wardrobe represents.

"I want to be a fashion designer," Alice says cheerily, not the least bit annoyed at having to lie about _what she wants to be when she grows up_. "I search out all kinds of designer clothes and then—" she shrugs—"when I get inspiration, I pull them apart and put them back together how _I_ like."

She points at a suit hung on a screen off to the side, dismissing me, so I give Bella a quick kiss and then take my clothes into the en suite. I don't get a choice, but I like what she has chosen for me, and from her thoughts, I know it isn't merely so I don't embarrass her. While I change quickly, Alice shows Renée a couple of options; she prepared three outfits, just in case, but Renée falls in love with the second one, a green wrap-around dress covered in sunflowers, so she doesn't need her backup.

To block out Renée's thoughts as she changes, I direct all my focus on Alice's thoughts, grateful for her matching focus as she watches Bella. Bella's options are quite different to her mother's. She and I are equally surprised that one is a pair of fairly ordinary-looking trousers; she snatches them up before Alice can change her mind, along with a blue, three-quarter-sleeved shirt and a merino wool jersey. Alice escorts her behind a screen so she can change, and then she goes to help Renée find coordinating accessories.

I wait in the en suite until Alice gives me the all clear, and then return to Bella's side; she is arguing with Alice about shoes and each of them tries to make me take sides, as if which shoe she wears matters to me. Esme offers Renée a tour of the house, so Bella uses the distraction to put her own shoes back on and follow after. Alice swears under her breath, but not loudly enough for Bella to hear. I give her a smile as we bring up the rear.

Thanks to Alice's careful preparation, we arrive back in the lounge less than a minute before Charlie arrives at 5:28. Alice dances out to the car and he nods in our direction before driving off as soon as she clicks in her seatbelt. I am pleased that he likes her so much—he can't help but feel better about tonight, and she knows exactly what to say to set him at ease.

By the time the rest of us climb into Carlisle's Mercedes—I am still driving, but Carlisle offered his car because of its roomier back seat—I can no longer hear the detail of Alice's thoughts over Renée's. To ease Bella's self-consciousness at taking the front passenger seat and leaving the adults to pile into the back, Carlisle announces his curiosity at sitting in the back for the first time. She smiles gratefully at him, and her flushed cheeks lose a little of their colour. I can't help but picture her blushing deeply when the conversation comes around to our wedding. The thought thrills me.

Though enclosed spaces are irrelevant to my gift, Renée's thoughts seem almost deafening in the car. By comparison, Carlisle's and Esme's familiar mental voices are like whispers. Thankfully, Renée is so taken by Esme that she is captivated by her every word, so her thoughts are no longer painful, merely ear-piercing.

Bella keeps her eyes fixed on the speedometer—whenever she looks away from me—so I diligently hold my speed at 69. The drive is mind-numbingly slow, but if she prefers this speed, it is the least I can do. Carlisle, who normally drives at precisely the speed limit, enjoys my efforts immensely, both because it is honourable of me and because it is good for me. As if driving more slowly can teach me patience.

But I enjoy his unique perspective on life, and I regret the months I spent apart from my family—and Carlisle in particular—in my misguided, self-enforced exile. The next chance I get, I will tell him that I should've listened to him; he had wanted me to reconsider because he believed leaving Bella would cause us both unnecessary pain, but I had doubted his opinion because it centred on his faith in _me_. He had been so sure that I could find a way to stay with her without ruining her life. And he still believes that.

When we arrive at La Bella Italia, Charlie and Alice are already seated at one of the booths. The hostess escorts us to the table and hands out the menus, and then our waitress comes over to collect drink orders; I am relieved that neither of the girls who served Bella and me that night seems to be here tonight.

Bella, Alice, and I all ask for water, while the 'adults' at the table order alcoholic beverages—Charlie chooses a beer, but the other three select various wines. Alice sees Bella asking me if alcohol tastes nice to us and whether we ever drink it, and we share a grin. Bella's curiosity is a gift for both of us. I feel even worse for depriving Alice as well as myself. She meets my eye briefly and repeats her request to be our wedding planner. I want to indulge her, but I can't ignore Bella's right to plan her own wedding if she so chooses.

While Alice and I privately discuss Bella's right to have the wedding _she_ wants—despite her modest tastes—we make our selections from the menu. Esme and Alice choose the minestrone, Carlisle _and_ Bella (to my surprise) opt for the mushroom ravioli, Renée the squid linguini, Charlie the steak, and I pick the vegetarian lasagne.

Charlie doesn't even wait for our drinks to be served before he mentions the wedding. Carlisle and Esme are genuinely surprised—Alice didn't pre-empt this revelation—but even so, they are immediately thrilled. Esme is especially joyful. The thought of climbing across the table to hug me (and Bella) flits through her mind before she settles for reaching over to squeeze first my hand and then Bella's.

Bella's cheeks are delightfully rosy, and I can't help but press my lips to the nearest one, enjoying its heightened warmth. I hope she is pleased by my parents' reactions and not merely embarrassed. Then she smiles and everything feels perfect.

Charlie is clearly disgruntled by my parents' irresponsibility, but it gives him little to work with, especially in the face of Renée's mounting enthusiasm. My parents' reaction helps cement her romantic vision of true love conquering all. I wish I could tell her exactly what true love has conquered in this instance—she would not be so cheerful if she knew that the price of our love is her daughter's life.

Bella twitches every time Renée says something about the wedding, and I wonder if she can't understand her mother's whole-hearted excitement or if she is regretting her announcement given the fuss in store for us.

After dinner, the moment the table is no longer between us, Esme pulls me into her arms. "I'm so happy for you, Wadie," she tells me (somewhat redundantly, as her resounding happiness is woven through every thought). _You and Bella are_ meant _to be together_.

I murmur my thanks, grateful for her absolute certainty and the depth of her love for us both.

Despite the brisk night air, Renée is keen to 'explore' a little; it's been years since she came here, and Bella getting married has put her in a nostalgic frame of mind. Charlie isn't overly keen, but Carlisle manages to engage him in a conversation about fishing (Alice primed him earlier), while Esme and Renée walk ahead of us, arm in arm, chatting like old friends.

Alice takes Bella's other hand and skips alongside us, remarking on anything and everything that comes to mind (to keep Bella from asking if we feel sick after eating). Except she doesn't mention her burning desire to plan our wedding because she sees that Bella will say no—vehemently. So she bides her time, looking for something to make a deal with.

When we get back to the cars, Carlisle nicely avoids an argument by offering to ride back with Charlie. Though Renée's thoughts drown out Carlisle's thoughts just as quickly as they had Alice's, I am able to follow their conversation through Alice's vision of it. After acknowledging Charlie's understandable frustrations, Carlisle describes his own frustration with my "cowardly" actions, much to Charlie's vocal approval. My selfless father lets him vent for over a minute before assuming a liberal portion of the blame for his purported role in facilitating my flight (from the cover story that we moved because he accepted a job at another hospital). Then, steering clear of any flowery language that would irk Charlie, he declares his belief in the strength of our love and says he would not have returned to Forks had I not convinced him I would do everything in my power to make amends. Charlie doesn't look overly soothed by the pronouncement, but he shifts from vilifying me to criticising teenage weddings, so I count it as progress.

It's quite late by the time we arrive in Forks, so I drop Renée at her hotel on the way back to Bella's, and then take Bella home and collect Carlisle. We stop along the highway to evacuate the contents of our stomachs, and then the others hunt while I drive the car the rest of the way home. I follow their thoughts carefully, practising listening to multiple distant minds simultaneously.

I decide not to hunt, so I arrive back at Bella's while she's brushing her teeth. When she walks back into the bedroom, I welcome her into my arms. She snuggles against me for a minute, before asking after my condition. "I'm fine," I assure her before she can say more than two words. "We all are—we didn't eat _that_ much."

She smiles at that. "You can't refuse dessert at a wedding," she teases.

I kiss the tip of her nose. " _Dessert_ , yes. Wedding cake, no."

She chuckles, then screws up her nose. "Who says I _want_ a cake?"

I have half a mind to say _Alice_ , but this question only reminds me how much of a production it will be, regardless of whether Alice organises everything or _we_ do.

"You don't have to marry me," I tell her, feeling the need to remind her that my commitment comes with no strings.

"I do," she replies, then grins at the (unintentional?) wedding pun. "I've thought about it, and you're right. Maybe one day, I _will_ look back and wonder why I was in such a rush. There might be one or two human experiences I'd like to have while I'm still human…"

Before I can ask what particular human experiences she has in mind, she taps my chest.

"And you _are_ old fashioned. You _do_ think it's wrong to live together without being married, don't you?" she asks, her tone distinctly accusing.

"Yes," I agree, not ashamed of my beliefs. "But I'm still not demanding anything. If you want to live together first, I—"

"Edward. We're getting married in August, and then we're going to college in September."

I gaze at her, so resolute, so strong, so beautiful, drinking in this moment. I feel so happy, my spirit is soaring through the clouds.

I kiss her, or she kisses me; either way, we are quickly wrapped up in each other. I am too overwhelmed with joy to be as careful as usual, but Bella only responds with even greater passion.

Eventually, when her heart is thrumming fast and her breaths are too shallow to be of much use, I manage to tear myself away from her. She clings to me, not letting me move an inch further away from her, but I don't mind. Nothing makes me happier than her love for me.

I listen to her heartbeat as it gradually returns to a speed approximating normal.

"I'd better get you a ring, then," I tease, determined to make up for my lax proposal when I present her with my mother's engagement ring—Carlisle had stolen it when he took me, along with her wedding ring, necklace and broach, and my father's wallet and watch.

She grimaces. "Don't spend a lot."

I roll my eyes. "We have a fortune, Bella—"

"I don't want to be worried about getting _mugged_."

I can't help but laugh, but I hastily school my features when she starts to look offended. "I won't spend a thing," I promise.

She quirks a brow.

"I'll explain later."

She nods, letting it go. "Do I need to get anything in writing?"

I chuckle. "No, Bella. I surrender to your superior judgement."

She smiles and settles down on the bed, half-draped across me. "Smart move."


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14: Gentleman**

While Bella is deeply asleep, I run home to change my clothes and retrieve my mother's ring. Carlisle is in his office; Esme is outside 'gardening' (usually, she simply helps the wild seedlings by transferring them to more favourable spots, but after Seth and Embry's zealous efforts the other night, she has a path of destruction three miles long to repair), so I detour to her for a hello and a hug.

Alice and Jasper aren't here (neither are Emmett and Rosalie, but I hadn't expected them to be). I hope it is because Alice doesn't want to spoil the surprise—but part of me can't help fearing the unknown. Will my official proposal go as wrong as my original, thoughtless demand?

But then, on top of the wooden box containing my birth parents' belongings, I find a small ring box. The smooth-edged, white leather cube is incredibly understated for Alice's tastes, and this restraint comforts me, helping me to shrug off my doubts and refocus on my purpose.

Going through my parents' treasures helps as well, as I remember the time I grew up in. The certainty of marriage had been, to me, as real as my body's need for oxygen. From the little I remember about my parents, supplemented by Carlisle's memories of talking with my mother—she had imparted to him a few of her most precious memories before the fever had claimed her, too—I know they were very much in love, and had been from the moment they met.

She told Carlisle that my father was a lawyer. He had had money enough to afford a ring when he'd proposed, and he'd gone all out. She had been blown away by the biggest cluster of diamonds she'd ever seen. (The fact that, individually, they were small didn't bother her in the least.)

I take the ring from its protective pouch and place it into the box. It is fashioned in an old style, with dozens of small diamonds set in the shape of a large oval and joined by fine webs of gold. Bella's objection to _my_ old-fashioned values makes me worry she won't like it—my father had chosen it _specifically_ for my mother, whose tastes were surely completely different. Why had I told Bella I wouldn't spend anything? And why is it so important that she like this ring? I stare at it for a long time, until my need to return to Bella overwhelms my anxiety.

But I stop at Carlisle's office on my way out, as I used to. "Before you say anything," I say as I open the door, "I want to apologise. I should have listened to you. You knew leaving Bella would cause us both intense and ultimately futile agony, but I did it anyway."

Carlisle pulls me into a hug. _You had to_ try _. I understand that._

I sigh. "If I had heeded your advice in the first place—"

"Edward," he says firmly, interrupting me. "If you had heeded my advice, Bella would be dead right now." In his thoughts, he pictures the murderer from Port Angeles, Tyler, James, Victoria, and then _me_ , making it clear he is utterly convinced that not only have I saved Bella's life, I have given her _a life worth living_.

For a moment, I don't know what to say in response to his heart-warming certainty. Especially since he expects me to dispute it, which makes me feel like a rotten son. "I hope one day to live up to your faith in me."

He merely laughs; he thinks I already do, but he knows that _I_ don't—that I'm genuine in my belief of my unworthiness of his high opinion—so he doesn't say anything about that. He appreciates that I haven't argued with him about Bella's destiny without me. "Go back to her," he murmurs.

I give him another hug and manage a smile before I leave. On my way past, I give Esme another hug, too. She didn't hear our conversation, but her thoughts align with Carlisle's; though she doesn't want to irritate me, she can't help looking forward to the day when Bella's home is our family home.

"You could never irritate me," I tell her, which makes her laugh. She watches me race into the trees, thinking that all is right again with her world. I carry that thought with me as I run, trying to keep my anxiety in check.

Bella is still fast asleep when I slide back into bed with her, though she reaches for me, as always. I help her lie most comfortably, then relax back into the bed, timing my breaths to her heartbeat to keep myself from panicking.

After she wakes, I give her a few human minutes. Then, when she notices my clothing, which is somewhat more formal than usual, I give her a smile and get down on one knee in front of her.

She throws a hand over her mouth, already blushing furiously, and I decide that it's okay not to have organised anything more elaborate—she would have been mortified by anything showier.

I feel the urge to remind her that she has already agreed—because suddenly I am afraid she will say _no_ —then tell myself to shut up. I will not stipulate her response, nor protest if she _has_ changed her mind. To make sure the proposal itself doesn't dissuade her, I ease back on the more effusive statements I have prepared (I can always say them later).

I take her left hand in my right and press a kiss to her knuckles, then bring out the ring box. The hand covering her mouth falls to her side, and she waits, lips parted and cheeks flushed, for what comes next.

"Isabella Marie Swan, I promise to love you for the rest of eternity. I will dedicate every minute of my existence to making you happy. Will you do me the honour of becoming my wife?"

She takes a shallow breath, and then murmurs, "Yes."

I feel what is possibly the most intense joy I have ever felt. Although she has already told our parents, it feels different now—more real. She has chosen me. Without any exaggeration, I am the happiest man on the planet.

I flick open the lid of the box with my thumb—I don't know how I forgot to open it—but Bella takes it out of my hand before I can extract the ring.

"It's beautiful," she says, sounding wonderfully sincere.

"May I?" I ask, impatient to get the ring on her finger and make it official.

She gives me a little smile, then lowers the box. I pluck the ring from inside and quickly put the box on the floor. When I loosen my grip on her hand, she stretches out her fingers obligingly. My frozen heart gives such a jolt, it feels as though it could start beating again at any moment.

Slowly, taking in every moment, I set the ring on her fourth finger and slide it into place. When it fits perfectly, I feel an overwhelming, wholly irrational sense of rightness. I lift my gaze to meet hers and the joy in her eyes makes my spirit soar.

"I love you," I murmur.

"I love you, too," she replies.

Focusing on the simple joy of Bella consenting to be my wife, I stand up and wrap her in my arms. A laugh spills out of me as the intense happiness inside me seeks an outlet. And then I kiss her until we're both gasping for breath. When I finally pull back so she can take a proper breath, she chuckles breathlessly, her eyes sparkling just as I imagine mine are.

She breaks eye contact to take another look at the ring. "It's beautiful," she says again, tilting her hand side to side so that the little diamonds twinkle in the changing light.

"It was my mother's," I tell her.

She looks up at me, her wide eyes full of love. "You never said you had anything of hers."

"Carlisle took it and a few other possessions when he took me," I explain, building up to the truth. "I waited to tell you because I've imagined proposing to you since the day I fell in love with you."

Her blush warms the air and thrills me. After a moment, though, her self-consciousness becomes satisfaction and her lips widen into the smile I so adore. "Thanks for keeping it simple for once," she jokes.

I want to tease her in return, but the reminder that I usually overcomplicate everything detracts from my light-heartedness. She touches my cheek, comforting me wordlessly, and then leads me downstairs for breakfast.

This time, she insists on foraging for herself. Her cereal seems even more starkly basic than usual—it doesn't fit with the luxurious celebratory meal my fiancée should be enjoying. I should be able to make her something special—but at least I still have time to correct my oversight. I will be a good husband and cook for my wife.

Bella finishes her breakfast, then eyes me meaningfully. "I've been thinking," she says ominously.

"Please, enlighten me," I reply, only joking on the surface.

"It's about one of those human experiences you don't want me to miss out on."

"Oh," I say, brightening.

Her face falls even as her cheeks redden. I don't understand why my reaction concerns her. "What is it?" I press, hoping she won't leave me hanging much longer.

"You're old fashioned…"

"Yes?"

"And when you're my husband—and I'm your wife—that means we'll have certain duties to each other."

I can't help rolling my eyes. "Bella, I'm not going to insist you do anything differently."

She shakes her head. "That's not what I mean." Her blush deepens.

The suspense feels like it is literally gnawing away at my insides. "Bella, _please_ , just tell me what you're talking about."

"You can't _guess_?" she murmurs, sounding… disappointed?

I feel like the worst fiancé in existence. "I'm sorry."

She bites her lip. "If we go to college, we'll be husband and wife for a whole year—maybe longer…"

"Nothing would make me happier," I agree, hoping she'll get to the point before I have to leave for my next hunting trip (but I make every effort not to beleaguer her with the intensity of my impatience).

She sighs, then blurts, "I want a _proper_ marriage, right from the start." I don't understand. She sees my confusion, and adds, "A marriage isn't official until it's consummated."

Oh. For a moment, my mind goes completely blank—and then my impossible fantasies fill the void.

"You want to wait," she mumbles, looking and sounding abruptly devastated.

I move to kneel on the floor beside her chair and take her hands in both of mine. "You know why," I remind her, since she has clearly forgotten. "It's too dangerous—I could _kill_ you!"

"That's the _only_ reason?"

"Yes! Bella, I _want_ to," I promise her. "Believe me, I _wish_ I could make love to you without breaking your bones. But—"

"I trust you," she says firmly. "I want to try."

I groan. "Bella, please—be reasonable."

"You're afraid you'll hurt me, but I _know_ you can control yourself, and you keep saying you don't want me to miss out on anything—"

"You _won't_."

"But it won't be the same after. _I_ won't be the same. And I will always wonder what it would've felt like."

I am completely lost for words. If she were trying to torture me, she couldn't find anything better. Alongside the guilt, I feel _so_ stupid. It hadn't even crossed my mind that she might decide that _that_ human experience would be the one she couldn't forgo.

"Won't _you_ wonder?"

"No."

"Liar."

I wince, and she gives me a rueful smile.

"I want us to have a _proper_ marriage. I want—" she breaks off, the blush blossoming on her cheeks.

"What?"

"I want _you_ — _all_ of you—before there's nothing I want more than blood."

"That doesn't last forever," I point out.

She frowns. "Why should I have to wait eighty-plus years to make love to my husband?"

"Because I absolutely cannot lose control with you."

"I trust you."

I shake my head. "It's not about that. You have _no_ idea how fragile you are."

She doesn't answer immediately and I can see she's thinking hard, which confuses me. What argument can she possibly produce to counter that indisputable fact?

And then, as if I have goaded Bella's reckless guardian angel with my thoughts, she says, "The Denali sisters don't hurt _their_ lovers."

I can't help but cringe, both at the painful truth of their superior self-control and at the length of time it took them to develop that self-control. "Not in the beginning," I say, avoiding the admission that _I_ am not good enough.

Bella sighs. She pulls her right hand free and idly strokes a couple of fingers through my hair. "If you don't think it's worth the effort—"

"Bella!" I cry, horrified—even though I know she's being deliberately dramatic. "I would expend _any_ effort to give you what you want."

Her wide eyes, impossibly, widen even further. "You drank my blood and then stopped—how is sex harder than _that_?"

If she weren't arguing for something impossible, I would be impressed by her casual use of the word _sex_. "You really need me to answer that?" I murmur.

She fixes her eyes on mine. " _I trust you_."

" _I_ don't."

Her eyes flash and her lips tighten. "That's _exactly_ the problem."

I force myself to take a deep breath, then exhale slowly. "I wish it were that simple." I don't know what else I can say, so I shake my head. "We're supposed to pick up Renée in half an hour," I remind her, hoping she'll let me change the subject.

She nods. "I haven't forgotten."

"I'll run home and get the car—"

"Take me with you."

I smile, pleased to avoid having to leave her. Her genuine willingness to accompany me is equally pleasing; after the _slight_ awkwardness of the first time I'd carried her on my back, she soon began to enjoy the rush of flying through the forest. I love it—the feel of her body against mine; the sound of her racing heart juxtaposed against her steady, only slightly accelerated breathing; her dazzling smile (I only see it when we arrive at our destination, but I imagine she is smiling the whole time).

She takes off the ring before we leave the house. I can't help sighing as I accept its return for safe-keeping. She kisses my cheek, sympathetic to my disappointment, but her relief is palpable—as though she has cast off a far greater weight than the little gold-and-diamond ring. I have to assume it is the weight of telling other people about our engagement, which will make us the subject of much gossip throughout the town; otherwise her desire for secrecy feels more ominous. (What if telling Jacob is what she really wants to avoid?)

At least running puts us both in a good mood. Bella's heart races and she laughs more than once. To engage her further, I regularly suggest alternative pathways with rougher terrain, so that I have to shift my rhythm and lengthen my stride or even, occasionally, jump. She agrees every time.

And then I start to worry that I've given her a taste for adrenaline—but I shove this new worry down where all the others (disease, natural disaster, falling pianos) lie.

There's no one at home, so we go straight to the garage and get the car. Bella lets me open _and_ close the car door for her without comment, looking worryingly introspective, but she reveals her thoughts before I have to ask.

"When I'm a newborn," she says lightly, "will _I_ be able to carry _you_?"

I can't help laughing, from both relief and amusement, as I picture us running through the forest with _me_ clinging to _her_ back. "You'll be able to carry me anytime," I reply. "My mass is roughly what it would be if I were human—I'm just able to exert a lot more pressure. Technically, I'll be able to stop you picking me up when I'm stronger than you again."

"Technically?"

I smile. "I won't resist."

She smiles back, then ponders my answer. "So, if I could lift 140 pounds, I could pick you up right now?"

"Yes," I agree, torn between mirth and curiosity. How strong _is_ she? I'm tempted to suggest she try lifting Alice.

"How much could _you_ lift?" she asks.

"Two to three tons."

"What about Emmett?"

I shrug. "Even he doesn't know. He once lifted a thirty-ton shipping container."

"And I'll be stronger than that when I'm a newborn?"

"Yes."

She grins, her eyes bright with anticipation. I try to come up with a new reason to delay this thrilling power, anything to make her less eager for the life of a newborn, but I can't think of anything I haven't already said to her. So I settle for describing the relationship between strength and muscle size for vampires. "Even though I was extremely weak when I died, my muscles are what they would have been in my peak condition. Emmett's muscles were larger than his natural peak, so his body was further enhanced by the change—every one of his muscle cells was transformed into a perfect cell. We don't really know how the genetic code and physical condition interact during the change, but all weaknesses and paralyses vanish, and amputees regrow missing limbs—hair and nails harden without changing very much, though, so there's a limit."

She chuckles. "So if you'd had a beard…?"

I smile. "Yes. I would have a beard now."

She strokes my smooth cheeks. "You didn't have any stubble?"

"Short or fine hairs disappear completely—eyelashes and eyebrows being the exception."

"I wonder if there's ever been a vampire with the power to change their physical features," she muses. "Even just to grow hair—or muscle."

"Gifts with physical outcomes are extremely rare," I remind her, though the thought is intriguing.

"How many do you know of?"

"Less than half a dozen throughout history. Even the Volturi guard doesn't have one."

"Maybe they hide their gifts."

"Maybe," I agree. "It's not as if _we_ advertise our abilities."

She nods, then looks out the window. We are close to the hotel, and I wonder if that's what inspires her sigh. I try to tease out the underlying emotions and decide that she is sad for all the lies we have to tell her mother, but resigned. Or maybe it is more direct than that—that she is thinking of the eventual separation her radical transformation will impose.

Renée is waiting for us, watching out the window for my car. She is eyeing the rain resentfully, wishing we were in Jacksonville so we could spend the day in the sun at the beach. She thinks Bella has become even paler due to the lack of sun, and she hates leaving her daughter in this cold, miserable place. She has no idea how right she is to blame me for that.

I listen to all the questions she has for me with apprehension; the advanced warning is useful, and my perfect memory means I don't have to worry about all the lies, but it doesn't make it any easier.

I reverse into the park outside Renée's room, so we're as close as possible to the door. Bella jumps out and goes with her mother to check out, while I load her bag into the boot.

"Sleep well?" Bella asks her.

"Oh, as well as can be expected," Renée replies, thinking of the relentless pounding of the raindrops on the roof that kept her awake.

"Did you talk to Phil this morning?"

"Not this morning," she says, and I see a brief but unfortunately explicit memory of the phone sex they indulged in last night. "He had an early start. But we spoke last night."

Bella smiles, none the wiser of her mother's active sex life. I can't help wishing that a version of phone sex would be enough to satisfy Bella, but I know she won't settle for anything other than true sexual intercourse. She has already said that she wants _all_ of me.

The intervening minutes since she announced her expectations have done nothing to lessen the shock. I am still utterly terrified by the thought of it.

Sexual thoughts I've heard over the years flash through my mind—my family's, friends' and acquaintances', even strangers'—thousands of different sexual encounters, each one either a purely physical act or a labyrinth of complicated desires too overwhelming to analyse, let alone apply to _our_ unique situation.

Pleasuring her with my fingers sounds possible—I know I can be delicate with my hands, though the big unknown is whether I can maintain that control when my primal urges are unleashed (if I hadn't witnessed Emmett and Rosalie in the throes of passion, that thought might not scare me half as much)—but that's not what she's asking me to do. I just wish I knew how to do what she's asking. I am completely out of my depth.

Then I realise I'm not alone in this. Maybe Carlisle can talk to her, explain the danger—explain the limits. She'll listen to him. And maybe he can help _me_ understand, too. He was a virgin when he became a vampire, too.

Feeling a little better, I pull up outside the office so that Bella and Renée can hop straight in. Because we're having lunch at my house, they've decided to go straight there; after all, neither woman has any fondness for Forks. I wonder idly if Bella will ever see Forks as I do—as a haven. For a time, it had become my own personal hell, but thanks to Bella, and Seth, it is back to being the magical land of plenty. A place where my family and I can be ourselves without living in isolation, as the Denali clan does.

Bella smiles at me as she clambers into the front seat. Renée doesn't stop talking as she climbs in—she just changes the subject briefly to let me know our destination, before going back to the cute, random things her kindergarten kids said about their pet caterpillars turning into butterflies.

"Zoey's conclusion was my favourite, though—that their old bodies were built for growing and their new bodies for loving." She chuckles, remembering her jumbled feelings of fondness for the innocence of the child and bittersweet sorrow for reality's far more complicated truths.

Bella has a wistful look in her eye, and I wonder if she's contemplating _her_ change—given what she has asked me for today, she is aiming for a different distinction between her current and future physical forms. Then I hear Renée's next thought and if Bella isn't thinking about her impending transition from human to vampire, she will be after that. I try not to cringe, even as I fight the temptation to interrupt.

"Tommy asked if it _hurts_ ," Renée goes on blithely; "that's a new one! I said it's part of their natural life cycle so of course not, but does anyone really know?" She grimaces. "Maybe it _does_ hurt."

"The price of beauty," Bella jokes.

Renée laughs, but I can't. She notices my tenseness—of course she does—so I try to divert her focus.

"Being able to fly _would_ be pretty cool," I say, working hard to keep my tone light and relax my body.

"Wouldn't it!" Renée agrees enthusiastically, but more out of kindness than anything else—she isn't fooled by my attempt at casual.

"I've flown a plane," I tell her, clutching at straws. "Carlisle's dad had a microlite and he took me up in it a few times when I was a kid. It was amazing."

Bella's smile twitches at the corner, and I wonder if she's amused by me referring to myself as a 'kid', which I've never done before.

"I bet it was," Renée replies. "Phil and I took a ride in a helicopter on our anniversary, and that was the scariest _and_ the most exhilarating thing I've ever done."

"Sounds great, Mum," Bella says. Then she smiles at me. "Maybe _we_ should do something like that."

I glance at her. "Go up in a helicopter?"

She shrugs. "Have you ever flown in one?"

I shake my head. "But I'm interested if you are."

Renée hears the true answer—that I'm _only_ interested if Bella is—and she can't decide if it's a problem or not. She doesn't know the correct term for what she worries I am, but I do: co-dependent. My lips twitch as I fight the smile, at least until she starts to think more deeply into it. She trusts Bella not to abuse my apparent willingness to put her needs before my own, but she worries that it makes me unstable.

"We could get flying lessons," Bella suggests cheerfully, seemingly oblivious to her mother's abrupt silence.

Throwing caution to the wind, I shift my eyes from the road to meet Bella's gaze and smile; she seems genuinely enthusiastic and I can't bring myself to deny her (not that this remotely makes up for my less than enthusiastic response this morning). "Sure. I'd like that," I agree, knowing I'm confirming Renée's belief in my prioritisation of Bella's wishes over my own.

Yet, despite that, Renée sets aside her technically correct diagnosis (by the clinical definition, I am absolutely co-dependent on Bella) and starts to wonder if I'm acting out of a perfectly normal sense of guilt. She re-examines my behaviour and tells herself that it really _isn't_ that unusual (whilst remaining alert for anything that might be). It's intriguing when she decides that she has given my words and deeds a deeper meaning because of her own worries; she is perceptive even of her own failings, knowing she can't trust her own judgement. Ironically, though, her insight into her shortcomings is what blinds her in this exceptional situation.

I find myself wondering how many people see themselves so clearly. Do _I_? My family (with one unremarkable exception) all think better of me than I think of myself. If they are indeed correct, is it any wonder that Bella doesn't see how special _she_ is?

As we get closer to home, I begin to hear Alice's thoughts—she and Esme are discussing the wedding (Esme is gently talking down Alice's most outrageous ideas—which range from horse-drawn carriages to basketball-sized paper roses to edible sculptures—in the hope that Alice can find a middle ground between the lavish wedding _she_ wants for Bella and the simple ceremony Bella would prefer) as they organise the kitchen so that curious Renée won't notice anything amiss. I'm glad I have the excuse of keeping my eyes on the road, but it's still difficult to hide my guilt at Alice's frequent, well-deserved outbursts about her "selfish" brother. At least Renée has already decided that my guilt is still close to the surface, so my silence doesn't raise her suspicions.

I consider relaxing my telepathy so I can't hear Alice until she expects me to, but I'm either too masochistic or too nosy to give up the chance to hear her unedited thoughts. Or both.

At home, Esme is every bit the thoughtful and entertaining host, but Alice is quick to steer the conversation in the direction of wedding planning. Even without hearing her truly outlandish ideas, Bella is as reluctant to let her have free rein as I'd expected; Renée's enthusiasm draws a few concessions, though. Despite disagreeing with their thoughts, I can't help being amused by how similar Renée's are to Alice's in their disregard of Bella's desire for a small, simple ceremony. I really don't understand why they think Bella's wishes are irrelevant.

To take some of the focus off Bella, Esme recounts their experience planning Rosalie and Emmett's wedding. Renée hangs off every word. I like that she is excited about the fortune we clearly have—instead of feeling self-conscious that she can't match my parents' financial contribution, she is glad that her daughter's 'dream' wedding won't be limited by as mundane a concern as funding.

We have vegetable soup for lunch, which is not too hideous, although Alice makes me eat two bread rolls to hide the fact that she and Esme don't eat any. The mouthfuls of dough turn into stones inside me; Alice amuses herself by picturing me throwing up later and, after enduring a few different angles, I indulge her by deciding to throw up into the river so that her vision will change.

 _Yes, do that!_ , she instructs when she sees my idea, enjoying the vision.

The hour after lunch passes quickly, and it is soon time to depart for the airport. Renée is sad to leave, and she hugs Alice, then tarries in a heartfelt goodbye with Esme—it is a prelude to the drawn-out goodbye Alice sees at Port Angeles airport, and a painful reminder of the final goodbye that will come in a matter of months.

Seeing Bella's sadness in advance doesn't help much in preparing me when her mood drops after watching her mother disappear into the plane.

"It won't be the last time you see her," I promise, glad that it is still true.

Bella nods despondently and buries her head in my shoulder. We watch the plane leave, and I feel intense relief when Renée's thoughts suddenly vanish from my mind. And then intense guilt at my _relief_ that Bella has been parted from her mother.

We don't talk much on the way back to Forks. I am tempted to drive a little faster to make the journey shorter, but every time the needle creeps over the 70 mark, Bella's breathing quickens fractionally. So I hold my speed steady and try to think of a pleasant topic. I find myself thinking about school tomorrow, which is far from pleasant, but then I realise that I've never told Bella about my role in getting Angela and Ben together. I offer that story for her listening pleasure, and when it makes her laugh, I feel a little less inadequate.

It's almost dinner time when we drive into Forks, so we go straight to Bella's. When Charlie isn't home, Bella calls the Clearwaters' to check where he is. Sue gives her the news that he has already left, so Bella hurries to prepare a simple meal, with my assistance.

When she jokes about inviting me to eat with them, I almost don't manage to hide my disgust at the thought of swallowing even so much as a mouthful of bland potato. She deserves a response, though, so I spout some silly remark that miraculously makes her laugh. Then, to deflect attention from dinner, I explain that I'd like to talk to Carlisle—I don't say why, but her blush suggests that she's guessed the topic—and then I take my leave before Charlie arrives.


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15: Researcher**

Conveniently, Carlisle is alone in the house. He is currently reading an article about the use of leeches in modern medicine, enjoying both the advancements in understanding that the updated techniques represent and the successful application of a natural process to support healing. When I enter the room, he looks up with a smile.

I can't quite manage to smile back. "I have something I need your advice on—and I will do my best to listen this time."

 _Sounds serious_ , he teases. Then he thinks of Alice's forewarning (which is the reason his is the only mind within range of my telepathy) and encourages me to ask my questions. He already knows that Bella wants to consummate our marriage while she's still human. And he is wonderfully understanding.

"Yes," I breathe, torn between relief and embarrassment. I take a deep breath. "I wanted to ask what the first time is like."

Naturally, Carlisle immediately thinks back to _his_ first time—in graphic detail. He realises the next moment and hurriedly tries to block the explicit thoughts.

"It's nothing I haven't already seen," I point out, trying to ease his embarrassment.

 _I'm a bad father_ , he thinks to himself, partly joking, but partly serious.

"Of course you're not—it's _my_ intrusion, not your concern."

He sighs. He still feels bad.

"Please believe me," I say. "I am completely fine with it. I hear far worse from Emmett—" Carlisle shushes me wordlessly and I break off. "You know what I mean," I tease.

"I wish I didn't," he teases back.

We share a grin, and then Carlisle tries to think about my question without letting his thoughts run away with him. Even so, he can't help thinking that I brought it on myself—I shouldn't have asked Bella to marry me if I weren't prepared to give her all that a wife deserves.

"It's my fault," I agree. "I wanted to give her as many human experiences as possible."

He chuckles because I am certainly getting my wish. You can't have it both ways, Edward—either you help her remain human for a little longer, and you give her all of you, or you change her now. Did you really think she would marry you and then wait a year or more (even a week!) to consummate it?

"I realise that _now_ , and you're right. I asked her to marry me. But I'm afraid I can't be as gentle as she needs me to be—" we both flinch, but then he considers Tanya and her sisters' ability and adds to that my incredible self-control and delicate touch… and he thinks I will be able to. I can hardly believe what I'm hearing.

"It was _decades_ before they learned to moderate their touch—"

"You have already learned how to be careful around Bella."

I shake my head. "Not like that. And we're both virgins. How… _intense_ will it be?"

Carlisle lets his thoughts return to his first time, carefully focusing on the question of how it _felt_ (so I don't see as much of Esme this time). It was just as intense as I'd suspected: he was completely consumed by the physical act. For the first time since becoming a vampire, he was utterly focused on a single act, on that one moment. Nothing else mattered—nothing else even entered his head. Their lovemaking is not all that different now; even after 84 years, it is still as passionate, but now he can choose to be less consumed by it—though I see now that they take less care when they are truly alone, and they are more adventurous (Carlisle tries not to dwell on _that_ truth in much detail). The first time, he concludes, it was all about the physical connection, but now they enjoy the physical _and_ metaphysical aspects of their lovemaking.

He believes it will be just as powerful for Bella and me, but obviously different because Bella isn't a vampire, too… So she will have a different experience, both by nature and by necessity—she will be completely caught up in me, but I won't be able to get caught up in her. _The most important thing is to prepare for that intensity. You will have to practise… Think about how it might feel, and—_ he thinks of me sliding a hand inside my trousers.

I grimace, squeezing my eyes shut even though that doesn't stop me seeing his thoughts. I have never felt more mortified in my existence; even Emmett's teasing thoughts are nothing to this moment. If I could blush, my entire body would be scarlet. The only consolation is that Carlisle feels exactly the same way. He has a lot of practice with awkward conversations, but having this conversation with his mind-reading son raises a whole new suite of complications.

"Have you ever—?"

I shake my head quickly.

 _Oh_.

"I never felt the need," I say, but that surprises him (and confuses the doctor), so I do my best to explain further. "I have _felt_ arousal, obviously, but I never wanted to act on it. After I met Bella, I… reconsidered, but I decided it was best not to… tempt myself."

He understands now, and he appreciates my situation. _That's good_ , he thinks, focusing on the positive (which also helps him shed the embarrassment). _Resisting the desire will have taught you self-control that you can apply when you_ are _in that situation. I'd be worried if you'd never felt arousal—that would mean your reaction might be unpredictable_.

I see a series of snippets of conversations he's had with Esme about my apparent indifference. Her concerns stun me—she thought my reaction could be anything from never feeling anything, living a purely asexual existence, to being utterly obsessed with sex when I finally experienced it. "I never realised she was _that_ worried," I murmur.

Carlisle shrugs. _She worried that you'd never get to experience the full gift of love_.

I sigh. "Do you think—?"

"She isn't worried anymore," he interrupts, guessing the question from my tone. "When Alice said you were going to fall in love with Bella, she stopped worrying." _She did want to talk to you beforehand, though—she asked Alice to keep an eye out_.

My mouth falls open.

 _She still wants to talk to you. Alice promised her she had till the wedding, otherwise you would've got_ the talk _already_.

I'm torn between laughing and fleeing the house. "I do know how it all works," I mumble.

 _That's not what she wants to talk to you about_.

"What, then?"

He shrugs. _The emotional side of it_.

I nod, accepting that, and acknowledging her sense of responsibility in her role as my mother.

"I'm not sure I've really answered your question," he says ruefully, wondering what else he can tell me without exposing me to unhelpful thoughts.

"You have," I assure him. "I had wondered how single-minded the first time might be, and you explained that well." I give him a wry smile. "Do you think I should ask Esme, too?" I ask, conscious of putting her on the spot, no matter how relevant her perspective is; as a woman, she can provide insight into Bella's physical and emotional needs, and, unlike Carlisle, she has experienced sex as both a vampire and a human.

 _Yes, ask her,_ he agrees, smiling _. She would love to be as helpful as possible—even if it embarrasses her as much as it does you_.

I nod. "Please warn her."

He laughs at my choice of word, but nods. _I will let her know—she will probably raise the point anyway_.

I hope so, though I know she will worry about the effect of her thoughts on me without considering the effect on _her_ of stirring up potentially painful memories. I feel abruptly rude for asking about such a private moment in their lives. "I'm sorry to have asked such a personal—"

"Edward," Carlisle scolds gently. _No question is too personal, you ought to know that_.

"I've never asked anything so personal before—and I do endeavour to give you as much privacy as I can."

 _Please don't try to ignore my thoughts for my sake. You are welcome to any of them_.

"Thank you," I murmur, freshly humbled by his willingness to bare his mind to me.

He thinks about Seth's idea to extend my range and encourages me to use his thoughts any time to practise; he thinks now is a good time to start because it will require the sort of focus that will help with my _other_ challenge. _As long as you can forgive me for anything you would rather not hear_ , he adds.

"Of course," I assure him. "Not that there is anything to forgive. Your thoughts are better and purer than mine."

He smiles at that, because he thinks I'm too hard on myself while also acknowledging that I _am_ better placed to evaluate the differences between our thoughts.

"I do have one other concern I wanted to discuss with you—as a doctor."

 _What, Edward?_ , he asks, pleased to put his expertise to use. He automatically thinks of female physiology and the bleeding that usually accompanies penetration the first time—but that's the least of my worries.

"Do you think vampire semen is venomous?" I ask, though I doubt the fluid my body produces in place of semen is remotely comparable to human semen.

He is surprised by the question—he hadn't given it a moment's thought—and praises me for thinking of it. Then he considers the possibility thoroughly—as thoroughly as Bella deserves. An errant thought slips through… that it mightn't be a bad way to change her.

I can barely listen to his speculation that sex could provide something of a distraction from the pain. The thought of creating an association between sex and her transformation is too awful—every time we made love, we would both remember her pain.

He sees my horror and hastily tries to suppress his sudden curiosity. "I'm _so_ sorry, Edward."

"It's fine," I reply, though my voice is strained. "I understand your curiosity—but I couldn't do that." I clench my fists. "Even if it might work, I couldn't bear—"

"I understand," he assures me. "It was thoughtless of me—"

"No, I asked for your medical opinion. Your understanding of pain is what made you think of it as a potential distraction, and I appreciate the underlying idea—but perhaps you could come up with something else for that. Something _morphine_ related, perhaps."

He smiles gratefully, glad I can already make a little joke about it, then sighs; he doesn't think morphine will be effective.

"Back to my question," I say gently.

"Of course," he agrees, apologising. "Tanya and her sisters don't poison their lovers," he points out, using the best evidence he can think of.

"What if it's not the same?"

Carlisle ponders that for a moment; he doesn't see why it would be any different, but agrees that it is worth checking, for Bella's sake (and the sake of my sanity). He designs a test to compare the two fluids with venom, and as embarrassed as I am by the sources, I am eager for a more scientific form of evidence. "I'd appreciate that," I say. "I can't risk Bella's life even more than I already am."

 _You need to think about what you'd do if you did hurt her—_

I flinch.

"Edward, you must consider it."

I jerk my head up and down; he's right, but trying to prepare for that makes the risk seem even greater. How can I possibly put her life in such danger?

"You can't let a mistake paralyse you." He pictures Esme's broken body, focusing most closely on her shattered skull and faint heartbeat. "Venom _can_ work miracles."

I try to nod a second time, but the thought of breaking Bella because I can't control myself is too much. Carlisle pulls me into his arms.

"I have faith in you, Edward. I wouldn't counsel you to try if I didn't think you could cope." _There must be other precautions you can take_ , he thinks absently, trying to come up with a fuller range of advice, beyond the mental preparations he has already suggested. He thinks about possible physical barriers, which turns into Bella chaining me to the bed—then hastily stops that thought. "I'll leave you to think about that," he mumbles self-consciously, releasing me.

" _Thanks_ ," I tease, before the curiosity descends. "Have you ever…?"

"No," he replies, actually glad to think about his and Esme's sex life in his attempt to forget that he ever pictured Bella and me in a remotely sexual scenario. "Don't ask Alice that question," he adds, skipping over a memory of Alice and Jasper discussing _Kinbaku_.

"Too late," I joke. "Not that I've _asked_ —but I've already seen some of what they get up to."

Carlisle chuckles, then wonders if they might have better advice for me.

"Until Alice has forgiven me, I don't want to get into any awkward conversations." I know she'll show me things I've never seen before and will wish I could burn from my mind. The same goes for Jasper, whose ability to feel and convey emotions would be acutely embarrassing in such a highly charged conversation. (Similarly, Emmett's advice would be the opposite of helpful, and sex is not a subject I _ever_ want to broach with Rosalie.)

 _She forgives you—she wouldn't have told me about your question if she hadn't_.

"I'm sure that was for your benefit," I reply, though he thinks the forewarning saved _me_ a lot more embarrassment than it did him. "I'd say she's about halfway through the forgiving process, but if I talk to her about sex right now, she'll inundate me with every last detail of their sex life, and I'd really rather avoid that."

Carlisle chuckles. "We've missed you two." He thinks about the additional dynamic we bring to the family with our closeness, and about how much I help Alice cope with her gift. Soon after I'd left, she departed on her own personal journey, focusing on the past in an attempt to deal with the chaos not only of the twisted future I'd created but also of her isolation. Without me to share her visions, she had struggled to articulate them. He thinks she felt more like the sort of freak that gets thrown in a mental institution.

"I hadn't realised," I admit, feeling like a complete cad. I really have been selfish. I'm surprised Jazz isn't angrier with me, before remembering that he blames himself for my decision to leave Bella in the first place.

 _She needs you, too—especially when Jasper is struggling with his own frustrations and disappointment_.

I nod, sharing Carlisle's wish that we knew how to help Jasper. But even Alice thinks that time will be his best healer; it's easy to forget, but Jasper has still had many more bad years than good.

And then his and Alice's minds enter the range of my telepathy; Jasper is as hopeful as Carlisle that Alice and I will repair our relationship soon, while Alice doesn't waste a moment before telling me that they've come home for me—otherwise they would've been having sex right now. When she tells me that much and nothing more, I dare to hope that she is ready to forgive me, or that whatever she sees me saying now will be enough to earn the rest of her forgiveness.

"Alice is calling," I tell Carlisle, and he immediately smiles.

 _There's no avoiding a conversation Alice wants to have_ , he teases.

I give him a brief hug and then make my way outside to the spot Alice and Jasper have chosen. Jasper and I share a smile, while Alice eyes me critically, waiting.

I give Carlisle a brief hug and then make my way outside to the spot Alice and Jasper have chosen. Jasper and I share a smile, while Alice eyes me critically, waiting.

I sink to my knees in front of her and hold up my hands, palms upraised. She places hers atop mine and I close my fingers around hers.

"I am truly sorry, Alice," I say. "You are my sister and I love you _very_ much. I should have listened to you, but I convinced myself that leaving was the only way to keep her safe. I couldn't see past the losses she would suffer. And you know I hurt myself more than I hurt you."

"Go on."

"I thought we were taking her life away from her. I had to at least _try_ to protect her soul—"

"Look how _that_ worked out," she mutters, unable to stay silent on that point.

"I know," I agree. "And I don't know how I can ever make it up to her, but I will do my utmost, and I will do my best to make it up to you, too."

 _Wedding planner_ , she reminds me.

"I will never go against you again," I vow, a little nervous about the commitment, but I need a big offering to make amends—although I can't put myself in a situation where I could end up being at odds with Bella, so I add, "unless Bella disagrees with you."

She snorts, protesting the restriction.

"You know I have to put her first," I remind her.

"But I'm trying to _tell_ you how to."

"I'd rather let Bella have the final say on that," I tease.

She doesn't appreciate the joke, so I decide it's a good time to apologise to Jasper. Alice sees me hold out a hand to him, but he hangs back, so I stand up before telling him how sorry I am.

He declines the apology; he still blames himself.

I place my hand on his arm. "I forgive you—I forgave you straight away. It wasn't your fault to begin with." He rejects the argument, so I have to be more insistent. "It was _my_ fault. I was already struggling with the—" Alice suggests the word I should use, and I penitently obey—" _inevitable_ future. _Something_ was going to catalyse my decision to leave."

Jasper sighs. He appreciates my efforts, but still doesn't agree. He thinks Alice would've convinced me to stay if he'd been able to control himself. He's probably right about that, but I still forgive him.

Seeing that I've done all the convincing I can today, Alice shifts the focus back to me. She asks—teasingly—how it went with Carlisle. Then she shows me a vision she's had of me practising a light touch by drawing with coloured pencils.

I can write comfortably enough with a pencil, so I would have expected to be capable of using coloured pencils, but Alice's copious visions of discarded paper quickly dispel that naïve confidence. She suggests that I buy ten pads of high-quality art paper and seven sets of pencils, amused by the repeated failure that will necessitate such a large purchase.

Then, mercifully, she gives me the boost I need to persevere—a vision of the finished drawing. After all those false starts, I manage to draw a decent portrait of Bella standing beside her truck. She is dressed in the clothes she wore the day we first visited the meadow, so it is a not-so-subtle homage to our first kiss.

When I show the drawing to Bella, Alice sees that she will marvel at my skill before remarking, "How does _this_ fit with trying not to show off?"

In the vision, I say (with a decidedly smug grin), "This is the first time I've tried it."

Bella looks as peeved as she does impressed. I take full advantage of this opportunity to study her expression.

Jasper can't help but react to the happiness we both feel; he touches Alice and she aborts her memory of the future scene in favour of kissing Jasper. But I don't mind—Jasper is so happy that she is happy again, and so am I.

When she kisses him deliberately passionately—to tease me—I'm intrigued that my usual irritation isn't there, nor the jealousy. Now that I've finally accepted that Bella will become one of us someday, I have the same passion to look forward to.

Alice isn't completely distracted, though. After a minute, she pulls away, thinking about Carlisle's suggestion that I _masturbate_. I shudder, even as she grins.

"You'll be the first vampire in history to try it," she teases, speaking aloud for Jasper's sake.

When Jasper knows what she's referring to, I am tempted to flee the state. They both chuckle, amused by my embarrassment.

"You haven't decided yet," she says, and Jasper feels her irritation as strongly as I do. She actually _wants_ to see me trying—which is even more mortifying, even though I understand, on one level, the curiosity driving her interest. But there is no way I can do it now, knowing she will be watching (even if I thought it would help).

"I don't think I'll need to," I say. "If I can manage to draw like that, surely I can be gentle enough with Bella."

Alice pouts, but she is careful not to think about the vision she has already had—so as not to spoil it for me. I am intensely relieved (because she would tell me if she saw me hurting Bella), but also surprised. I want to ask how long ago she had the vision, but I don't want to make it any harder for her not to think about, so I focus on another thought. I want to hug her, but I'm not sure I'm forgiven enough for that.

She sees me hugging her and holds out for a moment, then throws herself at me.

"I love you, Alice," I say.

"I love you, too—even though you're a monumental pain in my arse."

I chuckle. "Only to give you a more interesting life."

" _Bella_ makes my life more interesting," she retorts, rejecting my claim to that accolade.

For a moment, I can't decide how to respond—with a joke or a serious answer or something in between—so Alice sees a dozen different replies.

After she decides which one _she_ prefers, I dutifully recite, "I am the least-deserving brother in the world, and you're the very _best_ sister—" Jasper chuckles, pleased that we're back to our usual process—"and I will never take your counsel so lightly ever again."

Alice smiles sweetly. "Let's never fight again."

I wish I could agree, but as she says it, she thinks about our wedding.

"How about you plan the _next_ one?" I suggest, though I doubt Bella will be as eager for repeat weddings as Rosalie is.

"There won't _be_ a next one!" she cries, shoving me away from her, too irritated to hug me any longer. _It has to be_ this _one!_ She tries again with the only argument that has any hope of working on me. "Bella _will_ love it. It will be the happiest day of her life." But because she is being so careful not to show me _anything_ —not even Bella's smiling face—I can't verify it for myself.

To keep her focus off the wedding she has planned, she pictures me grovelling at her feet, thanking her for the "magnificent" wedding she gave us. I don't like the sound of that.

"Just how _magnificent_ are you thinking?"

 _Spoilers_ , she retorts, adamant I will get nothing from her.

I sigh. "Bella's not a typical bride—"

"Of course she isn't. She's the first human to _knowingly_ marry a vampire."

She glances at Jasper, who thinks of something he's never told me before: in the early 1900s, he actually married one of his victims. I am stunned (although it explains Alice's emphasis on _knowingly_ ). Jasper had ended up marrying the girl after he saved her town from a damaging flood and was offered her hand as his reward. Although he _still_ feels guilty about the deceit, he'd enjoyed her happiness—it had been such a rare emotion for him to experience back then. He'd given her the happiest day of her life, and then he'd taken her life. (I am grateful for Alice letting me know that she's already seen _my_ wedding night, otherwise the comparison would've been too hard to bear.)

Despite his guilt, he doesn't regret marrying the girl—she was the only one he'd given something before taking everything—but it reminds him how little control he has gained over his thirst since forsaking those dark days all those decades ago. He had often had to fight his thirst then, too, but he'd forgotten how much the promise of imminent recompense had eased his interactions with humans.

Alice senses his flagging mood and kisses him again—longer this time.

"Love you both," I say as I turn back towards the house.

 _Love you, too_ , they reply, before their love for each other takes over. As they shred each other's clothes, I find myself paying closer attention than I ever have before. Now that I've rejected the idea of _practising_ on my own, learning by watching seems a reasonable alternative—and I know they don't care if I watch. Lack of interest (or active distaste) mingled with a desire to give others, even strangers, as much semblance of privacy as possible (because I would want them to do the same for me) has been what kept me from straying into voyeur territory in the past, but now that Alice has made it clear she will be perving on _us_ as soon as her thoughts are beyond my reach, I have few qualms about watching _them_.

Ironically, now that I am deliberately watching, the embarrassment I have always felt at glimpsing the sex lives of my family is almost entirely absent. Part of me still feels the need to look away, but I am immersed in their love for each other whenever I'm near either of them, so this act is simply the physical expression of that emotion.

Instead of going inside, I head straight to the Volvo. But it's too early to leave yet, so I settle into the seat without turning on the car. I close my eyes and let myself feel their passion. For the briefest moment, just to tease Alice, I think about _joining_ in—masturbating while I watch them, like a _real_ peeping tom.

Alice catches a vision of me sliding a hand down my trousers and, in the back of her mind (the only part distracted by the vision), she is torn between amusement and that same bizarre irritation, because she knows I'm not _actually_ going to do anything. It's rare for her to get visions during sex, so it proves just how focused she is on my sex life.

To taunt me in return, she thinks my name as she and Jasper writhe together, infusing all the passion she currently feels into her mental voice. I can't help but laugh. I should know that I can't play these games with her—she is utterly shameless, so I will always lose.

Because my own sense of shame still has a healthy reflex, I decide it's time to leave. I should drive more slowly to make up for the early departure, but I can't bear to drive at the speed limit even if I could bring myself to dawdle now that I'm on the way to see Bella. So she and Charlie are both still eating when I pull up outside the house.

Charlie's thoughts darken in response to the sound of my car. When Bella jumps up to open the door for me, he calls her back. "Let him wait."

"Dad!"

"If he won't eat with us, then he can wait in the car until we're finished."

"That's—"

" _Fair_ ," he insists.

"You wouldn't _let_ him eat with us."

"That's not the point."

She sighs. "He's being considerate—"

"So why is he early?"

"Because we already spent long enough apart," she retorts, sitting back down in her seat with a thud, "and he misses me, too."

Charlie snorts, but goes back to eating without furthering the argument.

I wait in the car, figuring Bella's non-appearance at the door is enough of a signal that I'm not welcome.

Bella eats faster, but Charlie deliberately slows down. I'm glad when she waits a full minute before telling him off.

He sets down his fork. "You _sure_ about getting married?"

"I'm one hundred percent sure about Edward," she tells him without missing a beat.

He mutters something unintelligible, then, "Go get him."

She doesn't need telling twice. I wait until she opens the door to get out of the car, and then hasten to her side at a brisk human jog.

"Sorry," she murmurs, opening her arms for me.

I wrap my arms around her and press my face into her hair, breathing in her glorious scent. "I didn't mind waiting—I could hear you."

" _I_ couldn't hear _you_ ," she complains.

I chuckle. " _I_ wasn't talking," I tease.

She scoffs at my silly joke, but then she smiles. "I'm glad you're early," she says. "Although I'm still eating—"

"I know," I assure her. "I would've waited at home little longer, but Alice and—" I break off, realising I don't want to tell her.

Of course, it's too late. Her eyes widen and her cheeks flush as her heart beats faster. Then she abruptly grins. "Alice saw us, didn't she?" she challenges.

I purse my lips. "Your dinner's getting cold; I'm surprised Charlie hasn't—"

She waves me silent and then tows me into the kitchen, still grinning. My non-answer is all the answer she needs. There is no point debating it further; I can't even draw her into a discussion about the causational effect of Alice's visions on the future because we've already talked about that more than once. Then again, Victoria's interference raises new questions… but none that would help me argue against Bella's life-threatening desires.

I smile at Charlie and apologise for interrupting their meal. He jerks his head and mutters something that could be, " _Sure, kid, sit down_ ," but sounds suspiciously like " _Shut up, kid, sit down_."

His thoughts swirl around me; the usual frustration is clearest, but there's exasperation in there, too. I'm pretty sure he's thinking about Jacob. Added to my fears and my ongoing search for a way to dissuade Bella from consummating our marriage while she's still human, I suddenly realise that I can't keep arguing about it—although having sex with Jacob would be somewhat risky, it would be unlikely to endanger her life. If I keep talking myself down, or flatly refuse her, it will be another thing he can offer her that I can't. I can't let that happen. Carlisle believes in me. Alice has seen it. I clench my fists under the table. This time, I will back myself.

After dinner, Bella and I stay in the kitchen; knowing Charlie is listening from the other room, we keep the topics light. And then Bella gets all she can out of our goodbye kiss.

I speed home and then race back on foot. Bella is waiting for me in her bedroom.

When I don't immediately pick up where we left off our debate, she raises an eyebrow. "What's your play?" she asks, part teasing, part wary.

I take a deep breath. "No play," I reply. "You're right. I want to be your husband—" I can't help but smile at that, and she smiles back—"and I also want to support you in staying human for as long as possible. I can't ask you to wait because I'm scared."

She grins, then strokes my cheek. "I'm not scared."

"You never are."

"Not of _you_ ," she says, reminding me of her fear of Victoria (the bit that Jacob saw, anyway). Then her eyes tighten, as they do when she's trying to hide something.

"What is it?"

She looks down at our linked hands, then murmurs, "The only thing that scares me now is losing you."

"I'm not going anywhere," I vow, raising her chin so she lifts her eyes back up to mine. "And I will learn to trust myself again—to trust that I can keep you safe."

"You _can_ ," she insists. "And you did, even when you weren't here." I don't understand her point; she deliberately put herself in jeopardy while I was gone. "Since you got back," she explains, seeing my confusion, "I've realised that I never lost faith in you. That's why I saw you most clearly when I was in danger—because I knew you still cared about me. And I still believe in you."

"I believe in you, too," I murmur, trying not to dwell on my many failings.

"I believe in _us_ as well," she points out. "When we're together, we can do anything."

I smile. "I will try to believe that," I murmur. "I will do all I can to be better."

She sighs exasperatedly. "You're missing the point," she grumbles.

"So what _is_ the point?"

"You _try_ too much."

"What should I _do_ , then?" I ask.

"Kiss me," she answers straight back.

I chuckle and then willingly obey.

Bella stands up on tiptoe and wraps her arms around me, pressing her whole body against mine. Her heart is hammering; mine would be, too, if it could beat. We kiss for almost half an hour before she starts to shiver.

When I suggest we turn in early, she pouts.

"We've got school tomorrow," I remind her, trying to joke (and failing).

"I know," she replies heavily, sounding as enthusiastic as I am.


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16: Target**

School is bad. I thought I'd seen almost everything—the big things—from Jacob, but I hadn't. Jacob hadn't seen her at school. Though the humans' memories are considerably less sharp than his, they cut me just as deeply.

The entire school community seems to know that my family is back—between my venture into town last week and Carlisle's return to the hospital, the whole town probably knows by now—but no one knows what that means for Bella. So the students in the carpark eye my car with eager anticipation, waiting for any news they can get. When Bella steps out (trying not to meet any of the dozens of eyes trained on her), their minds go into overdrive. From our body language, they correctly assume we're back together, but that only makes our breakup—and Bella's breakdown— _more_ intriguing. I am immediately swamped with multiple memories highlighting her vacant expression, her habitual silence, her robotic-like movements, and her complete withdrawal from non-academic tasks.

Alice dances along beside Bella, helping shield her from as many students as possible. To distract her while I work to control my expression—because Bella won't mistake my agony for embarrassment—she waxes lyrical about her supposedly newest interest, acrostic poems. I appreciate my sister's native enthusiasm, but it doesn't help me cope with the coming trials.

Every single student, every single teacher, is stunned by Bella's transformation—nay, her regeneration. The fresh life in her eyes, the colour in her cheeks, the bounce in her step contrast so sharply with the lifeless, unresponsive shell they'd become accustomed to. She'd managed to maintain her grades, but that hadn't stopped her teachers from getting together to discuss ways to stimulate her academically—in the hope of helping her out of the crippling depression. Eventually, they'd begun discussing potential therapy options, which the principal had then talked to Charlie about. (Fortunately, he'd opposed it—perhaps because he knew from personal experience that she didn't need therapy, just time… or maybe she'd already started hanging out with _Jake_ and he could see improvements in her emotional state, even though the teachers hadn't.)

Only those in her circle of friends seem to have noticed the recent improvements (because it had been such a surprise when she started speaking again), but they'd still doubted that she would ever fully recover. Lauren and Jessica were still calling her _zombie Bella_. Mike had been hoping to capitalise on her vulnerability during the 'rebound' period, so his response to seeing me is pure anger. When Jessica sees us, the jealousy literally chokes her as she apparently forgets how to breathe. (I understand how she feels, but any sympathy I might've felt is smothered by disgust at the bitter, self-centred foundation of her envy at Bella's "luck".)

Angela is alone in being genuinely happy for Bella, though she worries that I don't know how badly I hurt her. She spends a good part of the morning debating whether to pull me aside and tell me directly or to wait and judge my actions first. I'm glad that she and Ben are still together, and that they're happy. That is one success I can still lay claim to.

While the majority of students laugh and joke about the miraculous change in Bella, the teachers are more wary (similar to Angela, but without her guarded hopefulness). They eye me suspiciously, concerned that my return _isn't_ the healing Bella needs. One teacher labels Bella co-dependent, not realising that _I_ am the co-dependent one. I wish I could tell them all what _I_ did while we'd been apart, destroying their misassumptions of a carefree few months in sunny California (though my pale skin belies the _sun_ aspect). If not for Alice's life-saving instruction to track Victoria, I would've eventually retreated into some cave deep underground and fossilised (if I hadn't given up and returned to Forks).

The worst reaction to my return is that several girls now think they're in with a shot again. Lauren Mallory is especially intent on making her interest known, and especially cruel in her assessment of Bella's inner _brokenness_ (despite her apparent recovery). When she tries to corner me to ask how I liked LA, all the while thinking that if I knew how pathetic Bella really is, I'd ditch her (again) in a heartbeat, it tests every mill of my self-control not to punch her in that nasty, petty head of hers.

To help me refocus, I consider ways of humiliating _her_. Alice joins in the moment she sees me strategically ripping Lauren's bag as we exit Biology, and begins searching for the most effective time or an alternative idea to show her up. And then we discover that Lauren is a thief (specifically, a shoplifter). I'm intrigued that the vapid girl hasn't outed herself in her thoughts before now, but then I realise that I have always tuned her out in the past (for her safety, given the things she used to think about Bella even before I left), and she's not the only one dabbling in such minor lawlessness.

When Bella and I are forced to part, she to Calculus, I to Physics, forcing me to follow her through other minds, I cling to Alice's thoughts to keep me sane—and nonviolent. I hadn't forgotten how annoying Jessica's thoughts are, but now I need all my patience to endure them.

Jessica has decided she's pleased I'm back because it means Mike's renewed interest in Bella will again go unrequited, but she isn't remotely happy for Bella. She is peeved at the way she was treated by her, and I'm surprised that it really does seem as though Bella _used_ her—ignoring her as she had everyone else, then suddenly inviting her to see a movie, choosing a _zombie_ movie, then seeming completely indifferent to the horror until right at the very end, when she'd ditched abruptly. And then she thinks of Bella's _truly_ "insane" behaviour afterwards, approaching a group of creepy strangers who were hanging out outside One-Eyed Pete's bar. Their number (four) seems too much of a coincidence—had approaching them made her feel imperilled? Was that how she acted when she was hallucinating about _me_? I want to apologise to Jessica because Bella doesn't deserve the blame for her erratic behaviour, but Jessica also doesn't deserve an apology—especially when she starts fantasising about me again, too. There is no way I'm looking at her (let alone _speaking_ to her) ever again.

She keeps up her annoying fantasies at lunch, picturing sliding her hand beneath my shirt with Bella sitting right beside her. I barely manage to suppress a shudder. When Bella looks at me, her eyes full of questions, I realise I haven't hidden my disgust as well as I thought. I stare back, losing myself in her gaze and wishing for the billionth time that I could fill my mind with _her_ thoughts.

In an effort to make it absolutely clear that my attachment to Bella is as strong as before, I keep my eyes trained on her the entire lunch break. Even in our English class, I look away as little as possible. When Bella finally hisses at me to _stop looking at her_ , I just smile and rest my chin on my hand, making it clear I don't intend to move any time soon.

Those closest to us heard her warning and are amused, but they still aren't convinced of the depth of my attachment. So I up the ante. I stare at her even when the teacher is talking—and I stop taking notes. _That_ draws more attention, until the entire class is acutely aware of Mr Berty's impending reprisal. He overlooks my rudeness for eight whole minutes before deciding it's time to test me.

He poses a question to the class at large, then fixes his gaze on me. "Mister Cullen?" he asks pointedly. "Can you explain it?"

I wait until Bella turns to look at me before reacting, as if I hadn't known he was going to call on me. As if I haven't been paying attention. I look up, hesitate, then say, "Sorry, sir, could you please repeat the question?"

 _Everyone_ is stunned. Bella's mouth falls open along with all the others, but she knows I'm lying, so she recovers quickest. She looks as though she can't decide whether to be irritated or amused—and she's trying to hide both emotions. But no one is looking at her. They are all glancing between me and Mr Berty, who looks exultant.

He composes his face into a sterner expression while he thinks up an extension on the question he asked—one he hasn't even raised with the class yet. Then he says, "What is Holden's _real_ problem?"

Almost everyone notices that the question is considerably harder, and they lean forward eagerly, wondering if this will be the time I make a mistake.

I am sorely tempted to say I don't know the answer, but that would give him cause to call me out further on my obvious lack of attention and I'm not about to stop looking at Bella. "Um," I begin, enjoying the way every mind in the classroom keenly awaits my answer. "Holden idolises childhood. He sees adulthood as fake and full of suffering, but his inability to understand others, his lack of self-awareness, and his feelings of isolation will only further isolate him as he moves into adulthood himself." I am tempted to go on, but Mr Berty is already frustrated by my brief but telling analysis.

Those who know I am right, or think it _sounds_ right, are immediately disappointed, but the rest soon figure it out based on Mr Berty's expression.

"Thank you, Edward," he answers curtly, before turning back to write on the board. _Can't catch him out even when he's_ not _paying attention_ , he grumbles. Then, _No wonder he doesn't pay attention._

I turn back to Bella, who has a calculated frown waiting for me. " _Pay attention_ ," she hisses, but I just smile. She gives up and returns her attention to the front.

Despite my continued focus on Bella, Mr Berty doesn't call on me again until class is finished. Then he beckons to me as Bella and I are walking out. Bella instantly looks nervous, so I give her a smile and ask her to wait for me in the corridor.

With mixed emotions, Mr Berty watches Bella smile back, looking relaxed again as she walks out, before refocusing on my educational needs rather than our worryingly unhealthy relationship (which, after trying and failing with Bella, he knows he can't influence). "Edward," he says companionably, "I know this class is a little behind where you're at—"

I shake my head. "I'm fine, Mister Berty, really. I'm sorry I wasn't paying enough attention earlier—it won't happen again."

 _I'm sure it won't_ , he thinks, amusingly irritated, but he isn't distracted. "If you already know what I'm teaching, it feels like I'm wasting your time."

I smile; he has no idea how true—and how false—that is. "It's good revision," I say, hoping to reassure him.

Yeah, right, he thinks sourly. You just like it 'cos you can spend every class staring at Bella Swan.

He is absolutely correct. I compose my face into an expression of earnestness despite my amusement. "I didn't realise I was so distracted," I tell him, hoping he'll appreciate the show of ostensible honesty. "I'm still adjusting to being back in Forks."

He sighs. "I understand," he says, and he does; he read between the lines of what I said (including assuming that I must've studied _Catcher in the Rye_ at the school in Los Angeles) and trusts that I won't be so blatant in my disregard of his teaching again, but he's still disheartened that I clearly don't need it.

"Thanks, sir," I say, even as I head for the door before he can set extra homework.

Going by Bella's smirk, she listened in on our conversation. Then she confirms it as we start walking; " _I didn't realise I was so distracted_ ," she quotes, a touch of disapproval clear in her tone and raised eyebrow.

"I was making a point to the whole class," I joke, hoping she'll let it go.

" _What_ point?" she demands, forcing me to acknowledge what I'm sure she is fully aware of.

"That I'm as obsessed with you as always," I reply, avoiding mention of her schoolmates' scorn.

She sighs, then says, "Please don't do it again."

"No need," I tell her happily, leaning in closer to ensure I'm not overheard. "The news is already spreading—I didn't take my eyes off you _once_ in English, even when the teacher asked me a question, and I _almost got it wrong_."

She laughs, amused by the exaggeration, as am I. I laugh with her, enjoying a momentary reprieve as the thoughts around us focus on how wrapped up in each other we appear, rather than Bella's changed state.

Alice skips up beside us and grins at me, complimenting me on my performance in her thoughts.

"Don't encourage him," Bella admonishes, correctly guessing the bent of her thoughts.

Alice and I can't help but laugh. " _Spoilsport_ ," Alice teases. "I thought it was excellent." Then, to me, she adds, "Good thing you avoided the temptation to say you didn't know." Her vision of Mr Berty's reaction to that is even worse than I'd anticipated—it would've incited him to arrange a meeting between our parents and teachers to discuss our "dangerous and unhealthy co-dependency" (I like that he sees it going both ways, but that insight is certainly not worth the fallout).

Gym class is a relief. It is nice to do something physical, and the effort of physical restraint is a useful distraction, though the thing I most enjoy is feeling useful—Alice and I save Bella from having to participate.

Despite our assistance, by the end of school, Bella's exhaustion is clear. Being the focus of attention has wearied her. Even Alice is quiet in the back seat as I drive us to Bella's. Bolstered by Alice's visions of how tonight might go, I dare to suggest that I keep the car and we let Charlie see us doing schoolwork together. Bella almost asks Alice to take the Volvo home, which means I'd have to hide when Charlie got home (but I wouldn't have to leave at all), but then she nods.

Alice stays with us, which makes doing homework a lot more fun (thanks to her ability to find something new in everything she does), until she switches from the subject of calculus to the subject of our wedding. I try to stop her, but she has a feeling that this is finally the moment she'll get Bella's agreement so she ignores me.

She starts with the standard arguments, but Bella is as resistant as ever, impelling her to try ever more insistent urgings. My presence makes it difficult for her to strategize, as she struggles to keep me from catching even a glimpse of her wedding-related visions. Her thoughts get so twisted up that she's giving herself a headache.

" _Ugh!_ " she groans, massaging her temples. "Edward, go away—I need to think without you in my head."

"No," Bella declares, slamming her pen down on the exercise book. "That's enough. Edward is not going anywhere."

Alice stiffens, suddenly realising just how far she's gone off the rails; trying to offset all the wasted moments she sees in this current, "lowly" version of history is turning her into a dictator. "I'll go," she murmurs contritely.

Bella's determined mien switches to one of sympathy. "I didn't mean that," she says gently.

"I just want to help," Alice offers to excuse her overzealousness.

"And I appreciate the sentiment," Bella replies, "but there's _bossy_ and then there's—"

"I know," Alice interrupts, not wanting to know whichever word Bella has decided on ( _tyrannical_ is the current frontrunner), "and I'm sorry. You're right. But you _will_ love the wedding if it's done right."

"Right for _me_?" Bella asks.

Alice nods solemnly. "Right for you—and for Edward."

That promise seems to swing it. Alice sees Bella agreeing and can barely contain in her excitement while Bella slowly bestows her permission for Alice to lead the planning.

"You're going to _love_ it!" Alice gushes, leaping up and twirling to shed some energy before rushing to Bella and taking her hands. "I promise—everything will be _perfect_!"

Bella can't help but respond to her enthusiasm, laughing as she accepts a brief hug, although she bites her lip when Alice turns to hug me. I give her a smile, but that's all I have time for before Alice throws herself into my arms.

" _Perfect_ ," she repeats, promising me, too.

She atones for her overbearingness by offering Bella the option of discussing the wedding now or going back to calculus, and then does a tolerable job of settling back into homework. So I indulge her by offering some opinions on a few of her ideas for my suit, initiating a highly pleasant and productive mental conversation.

When Bella decides it's time to start cooking dinner, Alice says her goodbyes. She grins at me as she sees me watching the Food Network for tips. _Rather you than me!_ , she teases on her way out. I make a show of doing my Spanish homework while Bella cooks, though really I am watching her.

That is how Charlie finds us. He wants to be angry when he sees me, but how can he complain about what we're doing?

Bella hands him a beer and he accepts it with a sigh, before going into the lounge and switching on the television.

While dinner is cooking, we make a start on our English homework, laughing and joking about Holden's hypocrisy. Charlie can hear us; I hear the hope mounting inside him for a few minutes, before I get the distinct feeling that he's smiling.

I stay until Bella is ready to dish up, and then say my goodbyes. Charlie walks into the kitchen, no doubt to hasten my departure but he does at least nod in my direction and he's even happy enough to smile at Bella while I'm still in the room.

Only Esme and Jasper are home when I get there; Jasper is telling Esme about the latest philosophical controversies. They try to rope me in, but I propose a short recital instead, so I play for twenty minutes before heading back to Bella's—taking a slight detour to catch a deer on the way.

Bella immediately notices my lightened eyes and smiles; then she says, "I hope your dinner was as tasty as mine."

I shake my head. "I'm sure yours was much nicer."

"No mountain lions around then?" she teases.

"Not between my house and yours," I reply, teasing back.

She laughs, then strokes my cheek. "Thank you for being quick," she murmurs, raising her lips to mine and giving me _proper_ thanks with her sweet lips.

I can't help remembering the wolves' distaste, so I marvel at Bella's complete lack of concern that I've just fed (I rinsed my mouth afterwards, but she doesn't know that). At least it means she isn't bothered by the bloody future that awaits her.

Bella suggests we do some more homework, but I shake my head and pull out a couple of college applications. She rolls her eyes, but lets me work through one for her, writing what she tells me. By the end of it, she is more engaged, enjoying dictating to me, so I manage to convince her to let me start a second application.

She tires of it halfway through, so I put aside the papers and suggest an alternative focus. Wedding-related matters make her tense, so I let her come up with a topic for conversation. She asks for a vampire story, so I tell her about the Volturi's predecessors, a family of Transylvanian vampires who gave rise to the Dracula legends. When I finish, she asks for another, but it's getting late and she's obviously tired.

To combat her ongoing reluctance to sleep, I encourage her to get into bed by shedding my shirt. We kiss until I have to pull back to let her breathe.

"I love you," I say, thrilled by her brilliant smile.

"I love you," she replies, giving me one last kiss; she knows I'm calling time on our amorousness, and for once, she is too tired to argue.

She quickly relaxes into sleep, but once asleep, she is more restless than usual. Her sleep-taking reflects the stress of the day, too. She is defensive about our relationship, but seems even more anxious about the new thoughts I've been exposed to. The one consolation is that she doesn't say Jacob's name at all.

When I go home to change, Alice presents me with the ten pads and seven sets of coloured pencils she'd told me to get, on a stand that Jasper made for me—gifts to cheer me up after the torment of school. But then she tells me I need to start _now_ if I want to give the drawing to Bella for a graduation present, which is more than a little depressing considering graduation is over two months away.

Despite having never broken a piano key, and not breaking a pen since I was a newborn, my ability is as woeful as Alice's visions of all the ruined paper and pencils predicted. As I discover the moment I touch the first pencil to the first sheet of paper, coloured-pencil lead is totally different. At first, I can only manage straight lines; the moment I try a curve, the point either snaps off or tears the paper.

I use a knife to sharpen the pencil every time I break off the point because that also requires a deft touch (a sharpener would be cheating). But it also wastes a lot of pencils. After using up all the shades of black, green, and brown in the first pack, I stop worrying about the colour and just try to sketch out the various shapes using lots of little straight lines.

The picture in my head is the one Alice saw in her vision. I go through an entire 96-pack in 53 minutes, with nothing to show for it—my right hand is scarcely better than my left—but I do my best to focus on the long game. Knowing that I _will_ succeed eventually, as long as I keep practising each night, makes it bearable.

Bella is still fast asleep when I get back. Her steady heartbeat calms me in less than a minute, and my frustration fades away. The effort is certainly worth it—her enjoyment of the picture alone makes it worth persevering.

The next day at school is barely any easier than day one. Bella seems more cheerful, but I still see several new memories of her formerly catatonic state. At least I'm able to intercede before Lauren can ask Bella how she convinced me to take her back (with exaggeratedly lewd overtones). I wish I could do Bella's work at Newton's for her, too, but I know she values being able to earn her own way (despite the fact that she will soon become a Cullen, which will put our considerable fortune at her disposal). So I settle for going with her.

Mike eyes me critically, torn between anger and resignation. Given my devotion in class, he half expected me to show up, but he'd been hoping I wouldn't. He hates that I'm back, because he actually thought he was in with a chance again. I can't help smirking at him when Bella isn't looking.

Without the distraction of schoolwork or friends, I am able to pick through his mind for other memories of Bella. One disturbs me more than others—Bella's uncharacteristic enthusiasm for gore after Mike tried to suggest they see a romantic comedy: " _I want to see_ Crosshairs," she insisted. " _I'm in the mood for action. Bring on the blood and guts!_ "

But thinking about the movie makes him think about Jacob. He starts wondering what happened between Jacob and Bella… and how much _I_ know about it. Has she told me about him or am I completely unaware of his existence? Suddenly, I'm not smiling anymore. I have to look away before he notices.

When he starts composing a question about him (hoping to stir trouble between us), I get in first and commandeer the conversation for the rest of the evening. By the end of Bella's shift, Mike is in no doubt that I'm never letting her go again.

. . . . .

. . . . .

 **Epilogue**

Life returns to 'normal' within a matter of days—faster than I would've believed possible. Charlie's heightened dislike of me, Jessica's ongoing avoidance of Bella, and Bella calling out another man's name in her sleep notwithstanding, it is almost as if the past six months never happened. _Almost_.

Alice and I remain on high alert, more watchful than ever. I track Bella's every moment when I am not beside her, either through the thoughts of others or through Alice's visions, which (thanks to her intense focus) cover most of the time but also extend further and further into the future. Thankfully, to the benefit of everyone's sanity, she adopts a more flexible outlook on the future and resumes her regular, subtler approach to shaping the course of all our lives.

Her exaggerated focus on Bella lets other things slip by, but I can live with that. Even if it means I don't get to monitor my progress on the drawing as precisely as I'd like to. But I stay as focused as I possibly can, guarding Alice's vision protectively in my mind.

It is frustrating to fail so repeatedly, but every time I lose focus, I shred the paper or snap the lead—or the pencil—so I am punished for my lack of patience. Every time I have to start again is an excellent reminder of my purpose. I am so strong that I could snap Bella's bones as easily as I snap the pencil.

Every day, I spend as much time as possible practising my skill; even when I am with Bella and not able to work on it directly, I seek out other tasks that provide an equivalent test.

My efforts are rewarded grotesquely slowly. Five packs of pencils are destroyed and worn down with little improvement. It takes almost two weeks to draw something that progresses far enough to look vaguely like the picture in my head. Except, even now, the moment I feel a little confidence or think I'm getting the hang of it, my concentration slips and I gouge the paper.

Nothing I have ever set my mind to has taken so long to master.

. . . . .

. . . . .

 _Continued in the sequel "Solstice Dance" (s/12123143/1/Solstice-Dance)_


End file.
